


Eye of the Beholder

by lupwned



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artists, Blindness, F/F, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-02-04 01:03:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 39,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12759912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupwned/pseuds/lupwned
Summary: Questions of survival and the future consume Therese, and just when the panic swirls up her throat and threatens to choke her, Carol takes her hand once again, brushing her thumb across Therese's wrist and palm. “You're ok. I promise you're going to be ok,” Carol whispers.She's uncertain why, but Therese feels safe beside her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: "Hey, maybe you should finish your other two fics before you start another one."  
> Also me: "Naw, you should write this one too because you're the worst."

For the third time in a span of five minutes, Therese dips the tip of her brush into the mason jar of water situated next to her. There's nothing to clean, as she's sat for nearly an hour staring at the blank canvas in front of her, but still, she swirls with her thumb and index finger, wishing the paint to appear – and, even more so, the art to form from it. Therese distracts herself with the mini cyclone forming in the middle of the jar.

A year ago, this would all be so easy. She'd been constantly filled with inspiration, the tiniest influences bringing forth the most vibrant and elaborate paintings. When she'd moved to the city, Therese had expected the inspiration to be almost suffocating. Now, she'd give anything for the tiniest bit of it again.

With a sigh, she places her palette on the ground and stands from the uncomfortable wooden chair situated across from her easel. Therese raises her arms over her head and stretches. The bones in her neck crack as she twists it from side to side, and an audible groan releases some of the tension building in her chest. Snowflakes fall slowly on the other side of her apartment window. Therese watches their descent, fluttering down until they stick to the glass and melt from the warmth radiating from the inside. When she reaches out and presses her hand against the window, a ghost-like print briefly appears from the heat of her palm - beautifully haunting until it slowly disappears with the trail of snowflakes surrounding it.

A loud bang from outside her apartment door steals Therese's attention. With a frown on her face, Therese throws open the door and peeks out into the hallway. “Can I help you?” she asks calmly to a pair of men holding either side of a dresser.

“Are you 34B?” one grumbles, checking his phone for what Therese can only assume are his directions.

“No, 24B. 34B is up one flight,” Therese instructs, pointing up the stairwell.

“Damn it,” the other worker groans, lifting his end once again. Without another word, the pair trudge upward toward 34B, but Therese's curiosity is piqued. She closes the door behind her and follows the men upstairs. When she arrives there with them, 34B is wide open, and Therese watches yet another set of movers arrange a series of living room furniture. Although she feels slightly odd intruding on someone else's space, Therese feels strangely drawn to it. She respects her boundaries, however, and stands on the other side of the door, warming her hands in the pockets of her jeans while she waits for whoever has moved in.

“I think the dresser should be the last of it, Mrs. Aird,” one mover explains.

“Thank you for all your help.” It's a woman's voice that speaks. Therese shifts on her toes, trying to get a glimpse without rudely sticking her head inside. Through the doorframe, Therese can see the back of a tall, blonde-haired woman. Dressed in a knee-length navy blue dress with a black, buckled belt around her waist, Therese is smitten simply by the woman's profile.

Without warning, a young girl races out from the apartment, holding a paper airplane in her hand. The sound effects of an engine fill the hall as the girl bounds excitedly down the stairs. When she's completely out of sight, Therese hears her gasp, then cry “ _my plane!_ ” from the first floor. Eager to help, Therese races down, only to find the child running out the open door of the city apartment building and into the busy New York streets. The makeshift plane whizzes along the sidewalk and into a stream of traffic, and the girl follows it mindlessly without any other care but retrieving it. Panic overwhelms Therese, and her fight or flight instinct kicks in. Her legs and arms shake as she races forward, grabbing the girl by the hand and throwing her back toward the safety of the brick building.

Distracted by her concern for her young neighbor, Therese doesn't notice the cab that rounds the corner. She gasps – then, a flash of lightning behind her eyelids and a deafening screech before the world goes black and silent.

**-X-X-X-X-**

“Therese? Can you hear me?”

The voice that calls her is unfamiliar. Therese keeps her eyes shut and breathes slowly, quickly aware of the pain in her ribs with each inhale.

“Therese? Can you open your eyes?”

Confused, Therese squints, inching her eyelids open. Everything in front of her is a profoundly blurred mix of textures and colors. Instinctively, she blinks a few times, expecting her vision to clear; when it only worsens, Therese's heart races, and the monitor she's connected to beeps loudly in turn. “I can't see,” Therese coughs, reaching aimlessly beside her.

A warm hand takes hers. Therese jumps.

“Therese, you're in the hospital,” the same male voice – a doctor or a nurse, Therese surmises - answers from the other side of her. “You've had an accident. You were hit by-”

“A car,” Therese interrupts. Her voice is airy; she clears her throat before continuing. “I remember. Is the little girl ok?”

“Yes,” a woman's voice answers. Therese feels her hand being squeezed as the woman speaks. “You saved her life. I'm indebted to you. If it wasn't for you, my daught-”

“Who are you?” Therese wrinkles her forehead.

“Carol Aird. Your upstairs neighbor. I just mov-”

“Ma'am, you can't be in here.” The man's voice is stern.

The grip on her hand tightens – not painfully, but securely. Therese briefly relaxes.

“Like hell I can't,” Carol practically growls. “She saved my daughter's life. And I'm going to stay here with her until either someone else comes to care for her, or until she's ready to go home.”

_Care for her_. Therese wants to explain that no one's cared for her in years, but a rush of pain silences her. She removes her hand from Carol's and reaches out toward the blurry shapes beside her. Her fingers brush against the scratchy sheets of the hospital bed, then to soft, unfamiliar blue fabric. Therese thinks for a moment, then remembers the knee-length dress she'd admired only hours before. She recalls the silhouette of the woman she'd unapologetically spied on, but when Therese looks beside her, there is nothing but fuzziness and the occasional specks of color.

“Why can't I see?” Therese asks, her voice cracking with concern. The tears come instinctively and cloud what little vision she has; Therese feels them trickle over the bridge of her nose and onto her lips, salty against her tongue.

The explanation comes from the male voice beside her – something about a windshield, and glass, and temporary vision damage. At some point, it all becomes even more of a blur, and Therese feels the anxiety swell in her stomach and chest. Questions of survival and the future consume her, and just when the panic swirls up her throat and threatens to choke her, Carol takes her hand once again, brushing her thumb across Therese's wrist and palm. “You're ok. I promise you're going to be ok,” Carol whispers.

She's uncertain why, but Therese feels safe beside her.

The pain meds dripping through the IV in her arm make Therese feel dizzy, and although she tries to fight it, the darkness overwhelms her once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, friends! Comments make the author smile and inspire more :)


	2. Chapter 2

With the loss of her sight, Therese finds – unexpectedly – that her other senses begin to heighten. The pain medication wears off after several hours, and when she finally awakes – unaware of the time without being able to check her watch or phone – Therese is immediately greeted by a sweet perfume that seems strangely familiar to her. Vanilla and honey are the first traces she recognizes – two of her favorites – followed by the faintest hint of lavender. Slowly, she tilts her head to the right and squints, willing her eyes to focus. A trace of swirling blue is all she can identify.

“Hello?” Therese manages weakly. She hears the swish of fabric beside her.

“Therese, dear. How are you feeling?”

It takes a few seconds to recall the voice – smooth, calm, even. Feminine, but older than herself by the pitch and tone. Therese pinches the bridge of her nose with her middle and index fingers and closes her eyes, willing herself to remember the name the voice belongs to. Although her accident is a valid excuse, she prides herself on her vivid artist's memory, and Therese is extremely embarrassed when she looks over at the woman beside her with a completely confused expression on her face.

Then a gentle, warm hand touches her elbow carefully. Something about it triggers an electric pulse that trickles from her forearm to her brain, and in an instant, she recalls the kind woman's name.

“Carol,” Therese breathes, so soft that she'd be surprised if her companion even heard.

But she does.

“You remembered.”

Therese smiles.

“Is there anyone I can call for you, Therese?”

The small wave of euphoria recedes. Therese sniffs back a wave of emotion, which she immediately regrets when every nerve in her wounded sinuses throbs in unison. At one time, she'd have been able to provide a laundry list of people. In fact, they'd probably already be calling every hospital - panicking, wondering where she was. But in this new life, far separated from her past, there is no one.

Therese nervously picks at the skin around her fingernail.

Carol stops her with a quick squeeze of her hand. “Are you hungry?” she asks, clearly changing the subject to distract her.

Truthfully, the pain medication has her feeling slightly sick, but Therese realizes she hasn't eaten in quite awhile, and that may be a factor in her nausea. She nods silently.

“I purchased a few things for you from the food court earlier. I don't really know what you like to eat, so I picked out what I thought would be the easiest for you.” Carol peels the plastic off of something, and Therese wonders whether Saran wrap has always been this loud.

When Carol places whatever she's chosen into Therese's hands, the younger woman relies on her sense of smell once more. “Turkey?”

Carol laughs. “I figured that was the least offensive sandwich choice. Is that ok?”

Therese devours a mouthful as a reply. “Did the doctor come in at all while I was asleep?” she asks between bites.

“A nurse came in briefly to take your vitals.”

Therese runs her fingertips along the edge of the bread, searching for the smooth edges of the crust in contrast to the rest of the slice. She picks it off in chunks, but soon realizes she has nowhere to put the offending ends.

“You and Rindy with the crusts,” Carol chuckles.

Therese feels the sandwich disappear from her hands for a brief moment. When Carol returns it a few seconds later, it's noticeably lighter – and crust free. Therese holds it for a moment, taken aback by the kind gesture. It's small and insignificant, and she guesses Carol thinks nothing of it; in fact, as a mother, it is probably instinctual. But to Therese, this stranger's affection is everything. No one – not family, nor friends, nor the brief lovers who have come and gone from her life – have taken the time to do little things such as this.

Therese brings the sandwich up to her lips, bites, then chews slowly. There's a lump in her throat that makes it difficult to swallow.

“I'm leaving for my apartment briefly,” Carol informs. “Is there anything I can get you from yours to make you feel more comfortable?”

“Oh, you don't...” Therese finishes the last piece of her sandwich before continuing. “You don't have to do that. I-”

“Nonsense.”

“Did you overhear how long I'll have to be here?” Therese asks.

“I haven't.” After a few beats of silence, Carol adds, “But you shouldn't worry yourself about that. You'll be ready when you're ready.” She squeezes Therese's shoulder, and the shockwaves surge through the younger woman again – the touch she's craved for so long finally here in such an innocent, inconspicuous form.

**-X-X-X-X-**

When Carol leaves, the silence is deafening. Without her sight or the comfort of conversation, Therese feels lost in a blurry haze. For awhile, she lays in the hospital bed, listening to the trace of conversations between the nurses as they pass through the hallway. She instantly recognizes the voice of the doctor who'd visited her before as he approaches the doorway, and Therese greets him with a gentle “hello” as he enters. Although she can't see his face, Therese is certain she's taken him off guard, and she bites back a tiny smile.

“Hi, Miss Belivet. I realized I hadn't properly introduced myself before, but I'm Dr. Rendam.”

Therese hears a chair slide across the tile floor toward her bed. Her doctor's voice settles close to her, and she turns her head and body in his direction.

“How are you feeling?”

Therese shrugs. “As well as possible, I suppose.”

“I would like to take a look at your eyes now. Is that ok with you?”

Therese simply nods. Rendam's hands are cold against her face, so starkly different from the warmth of Carol's earlier touch. When he pulls her eyelids up further, Therese yelps instinctively, the shot of pain felt all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. Even in her semi-blindness, the brightness of the doctor's pocket scope is painful, and she struggles to keep her eyes open as Rendam analyzes. Feeling vulnerable, she aches for Carol's hand to hold.

“Well, Miss Belivet, the good news is that after a night of observation, we should be able to release you.” Rendam pauses, then takes a deep breath. “The bad news is that, as a result of the accident, you have some minor retinal bruising. I do, however, anticipate that, over time, most of your vision should return.”

 _Most_. Therese knows that it is better than nothing, but her doctor's bedside manner leaves much to be desired.

“You should only spend short spurts in the sun,” he continues, “and you will need to wear protective glasses any time you venture out. The hospital will provide you with a cane, which you should use at all times until you are more acclimated with your surroundings. For the short term, you are likely going to need help with daily activities. Is there someone we can contact that would be able to-”

In the middle of Dr. Rendam's speech, Therese is distracted by the sound of heels as someone rounds the corner to her hospital room. She supposes it could be a nurse, or another doctor who specializes in her type of injuries, but the voice that greets her is much more familiar – and comforting - than either of her guesses.

“I grabbed you a few sweaters and a pair of – oh.” Carol stops mid-sentence.

Therese feels a stack of light fabric at her feet.

“Mrs. Aird, I was just talking with Therese about her care plan moving forward.”

“I don't really have anyone,” Therese interrupts. “I'm sure I will be able to manage just fine if someone can just take me home.”

“Miss Belivet, I'm afraid that-”

“Don't be foolish,” Carol interjects loudly. “When you are ready, I will take you home. You will stay in my apartment until you are ready to go back to yours. I only live one floor up, so I will be able to get anything you need.”

Therese opens her mouth in protest, but Carol quickly shushes her.

“And don't think you can argue with me, Therese, because there's no use wasting the energy. This is the very least I can do.”

And there it is – the pity Therese instinctively wants to run from. Of course she's appreciative of Carol's kindness, but she doesn't want this new friendship to stem from the perpetual need to make up for her heroism. Ultimately, though, she realizes that there are few options available to her. She could stay at the hospital for as long as they'll allow her, but the medical bills will quickly put her in insurmountable debt. Reaching out to family is out of the question, and she isn't close enough with the few acquaintances she's made since her move to ask them to care for her.

Truthfully, deep down, the concept of living with Carol _does_ excite her. Although she'd never gotten a full look at her, Therese recalls the butterflies she'd felt not only at the brief glimpse from the apartment doorway, but the tickling spark when Carol had taken her hand earlier. Therese hopes her recovery time will be brief, but if something good can come from her injuries, she supposes she shouldn't fight the opportunity.

With a sigh, Therese settles back against the pillows and closes her eyes. “Ok,” she agrees. “I will go home with you, Carol.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more. 
> 
> Therese now has somewhere to go - what could possibly happen once she settles in? ;)


	3. Chapter 3

Although Carol assures Therese she is happy to stay the night with her, Therese waves her away with a soft smile. “You've been here all day. Go to your daughter. I don't think I'll be escaping anywhere any time soon.”

When Carol opens her mouth to protest some more, sucking in a sharp breath that Therese can easily hear and decipher, she interrupts her with a laugh. “It's ok. Truly.”

The rest of the evening reminds Therese why she loathes hospitals. In her life, she's had many stays – tonsils removed at 8, a broken arm at 11 and her appendix out at 19. Even when her family was still by her side, there was an undeniable sense of loneliness and anxiousness sitting in the hospital bed, her future in the hands of a doctor who she was simply a number to. Something about the bright, sterile white surrounding her had always made her tense – her creative nature almost offended by the blandness of it all.

Tonight, with no one by her side and the loss of her strongest sense, the unease triples.

At some point, a nurse – different than earlier in the day, with a deeper voice but softer hands – brings her a tray of hospital food. In that moment, Therese realizes how desperately she needs to use restroom and simply freshen up. “Dr. Rendam had mentioned a cane?” Prideful, she can't find the will to fully ask the nurse for help.

But the nurse catches on, and a few minutes later, Therese is on her feet and slowly making her way to the bathroom. Every muscle in her body throbs with each slow, deliberate movement, and Therese quickly finds herself breathing heavily through the pain, fearful her legs may give out at a moment's notice. She grips the cane until she is white knuckled. Coupled with the disorienting blur of color in front of her eyes, she reaches aimlessly for the nurse's hand when she feels as though she may faint.

“Almost there,” the nurse encourages.

She'd never imagined a simple trip to the restroom could be so exhausting. With the nurse's aide, she manages to use the toilet, wash her hands and face, brush her teeth and pull her short hair up into a more manageable ponytail. In all her life, she'd never expected to need help putting toothpaste on a toothbrush, or finding her way to the sink, but Therese feels humbled and a tiny bit depressed when her nurse assists her with both.

When it dawns on her that she may have to ask Carol to help her with the same things, a deep red blush trickles up her chest, neck and face. It's one thing to have a nurse assist – whose job it is to do these things – but a gorgeous stranger who she's slightly infatuated by...

“Could you help me change?” Therese asks, pointing toward what she assumes is the direction of the bed. “Someone brought me a few sweaters and-”

“Say no more. These hospitals gowns are the worst.”

A bit more steady on her feet, when the nurse brings over the clothing from Carol, she changes with more ease than her earlier tries. She carefully shifts out of the thin, scratchy gown and into a baggy sweater and – from the tightness and feel of them – a pair of yoga pants. The length of both signal to Therese that they are not her own. Carol had brought some of her _own_ clothing. Despite the warmth of the lined pullover, Therese shivers.

Feeling more human, Therese returns to her bed. With blurred vision, her sense of direction is greatly impaired, and she relies on her nurse to lead her way. She logs each shift and turn in her head like the deliberate strokes of her paintbrush, determined to navigate her way before released in Carol's care.

Once the nurse leaves – after Therese again thanks her profusely – she picks at her tray of food. She fumbles for a minute with the plastic wrap around her disposable utensils. Stabbing and scooping randomly, she manages to eat a few uncoordinated mouthfuls of applesauce and the corner of some very dry toast before giving up on the dreadful meal. She recalls the last thing she cooked – a spinach pasta with ravioli and shaved parmesan. Her mouth waters. What she wouldn't give for it. For a brief moment, Therese wonders if Carol cooks.

_Carol_. In such a short time, all things seem to come back to her. Therese pulls the scratchy blanket up and over her body, curling up beneath it. It smells of cheap detergent, bland and musty. She sinks more comfortably into the oversized sweater Carol provided, nuzzling her face into the long arms and inhaling slowly. The distinct, sweet scent of Carol outshines that of the hospital. Like a lullaby, it soothes her. Exhausted, Therese doesn't fight it, allowing herself to rest and dream.

**-X-X-X-X-**

As promised, Carol returns to the hospital early the next morning.

“The sweater suits you,” Carol compliments, and although Therese can't see her, she pictures a playful wink as the punctuation. Therese knows she looks dreadful, but the flattery is nevertheless appreciated. “How are you feeling?”

Therese rubs the sleep out of her eyes with the back of her hand and yawns. The ache seems to have settled deeper into her bones. She nuzzles her face against her pillow and grumbles.

“That good, huh?”

All Therese can manage is a nod. Regretfully, the IV in her arm no longer seems connected to any drip. “You don't have any aspirin or anything, do you?”

“Well, this _is_ a hospital, so I'm sure I could find you some at $50 a pill.”

The pair laugh softly together.

“I might have some in my bag.” The clasp on Carol's purse comes undone with a click, and Therese listens intently as she fumbles through it. She hears the quiet trickle of water from across the room for a brief second, then the sound of footsteps returning to her. “I won't tell anybody if you won't,” Carol jokes, gently pressing the pill up to Therese's lips.

Something about the soft pressure of Carol's fingertips makes her heart race. Without hesitation, Therese parts her lips, balancing the aspirin on her tongue. In their closeness, she can make out the tiniest bit more, the emerald green of Carol's top easy to distinguish amongst the blur. When Carol leans in closer to present her with a cup of water, Therese swears she sees the briefest glimpse of the other woman's face – sharp cheekbones and deep red accenting her mouth. It fades quickly, leaving Therese to wonder what excuse she can make to keep Carol this close to her once more.

**-X-X-X-X-**

A few hours later, after various conversations with doctors, a hefty stack of prescriptions, and her first follow-up set for a week's time, Therese is released into Carol's care.

“Mind if I drive?” Carol teases, taking hold of the handles of the wheelchair Therese is required to leave in. Carefully, she sets the bag of belongings into Therese's lap and shifts her toward the direction of the larger, automated exit doors.

Therese adjusts the hospital-issued sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose. “Let's roll.”

**-X-X-X-X-**

Although she now calls New York her home, the country girl in Therese has always enjoyed long car rides to clear her head and spark her creativity. Something about the smell of fresh air and the wind on her face always leaves her feeling renewed. Therese is sorely disappointed, however, when the car ride to Carol's leaves her feeling more nauseous than refreshed. The blur of her surroundings leave her feeling extremely carsick, and the whir of the world seems to scream in her ear when it used to be so subtle. Therese rests her temple on the window and closes her eyes to steady herself. If she were able to see her own face, she's certain she'd appear a wicked shade of green.

“Are you ok?”

Breathing slowly through her nose, Therese wills away the urge to vomit.

“Not too much longer. I promise,” Carol assures. While stopped at a light or sign – Therese squints, but can't quite make out which – Carol removes one hand from the steering wheel and rubs Therese's shoulder in a slow, smoothing motion. It's a simple gesture, but surprisingly comforting. For a brief moment, her queasiness subsides.

**-X-X-X-X-**

Arm-in-arm – and with her cane in her free hand – Therese and Carol make their way up to 34B. It's a difficult balancing act, but whenever she feels as though she may stumble, Carol is immediately there to guide her with a strong but tender grip. Therese is surprised – and slightly embarrassed – at how exhausted she is by the time they make it to the entryway of Carol's apartment. While she waits for Carol to find her keys, Therese rests against the wall and looks around, trying to recognize the surroundings that were, at one time, so familiar to her. She'd never expected to miss the sight of the cracking grey concrete, or the dirty black carpet on the hallway floor that was always in desperate need of a vacuum.

The lock to 34B opens with a pop. “Ready to go inside?”  
  
Therese nods.

“I asked a friend of mine to unpack as much as she could so there wouldn't be boxes in your way,” Carol explains. “She's also taken my daughter for the night so you can get acclimated. She's a good girl, but a little rambunctious. Although,” she adds, leading Therese to the corner of the long sectional, “I suppose if anyone knows that now, it's you.”

There's an awkward pause in their conversation as Therese tries to find the right way to respond. Although Carol is trying to be playful, she hears the underlying guilt in her words. “It could have happened to anyone,” Therese assures, reaching in the direction of Carol's fuzzy silhouette. “I'm just glad I was there.”

Therese waits for Carol to say something, but the dialogue goes flat. She does the only thing that makes sense in the moment – fumbles for Carol's hand, holds it, and tugs her beside her on the couch. So near, Therese can see wisps of Carol's blonde hair – a color she'd remembered from before, but so much more prominent up close beneath the overhead light.

“Thank you,” Carol says quietly. “You'll get tired of me saying it, I'm sure, but I truly can't thank you enough.”

Therese stays silent. Instead, she opts for friendly affection, pulling Carol into a light hug. She rests her chin on Carol's shoulder, momentarily dizzy from the scent of perfume at Carol's pulse point. For some unexplainable reason, Therese believes that in, due time, she'll have much to thank Carol for in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more :) I love engaging with you!


	4. Chapter 4

Although the sectional is more than satisfactory, after an hour on it while Carol prepares the guest room and tidies up the apartment to her personal satisfaction, Therese is desperate for the comforts of home. When Carol asks if there is anything she would like brought over from her apartment, Therese almost sighs in appreciation. The list she provides is nothing spectacular; her toothbrush, some clothing, and the collection of toiletries from her sink and shower are a few of the dozen or so items she requests. Still, each hold some sort of importance, and Therese knows she will feel more relaxed with them around.

“I shouldn't be long,” Carol instructs. Therese recognizes the jingle of keys from across the room, and guesses Carol has retrieved them from her belongings from the hospital. “Will you be ok for a few minutes? I can bring you along if you would like, I just figured you would want to-”

Therese shakes her head. “No, I'll be fine. I'm exhausted, so I'll probably just curl up here and take a nap,” she explains with a shrug.

“Be back in a flash,” Carol promises. The door closes and signals to Therese that she's now alone. As she'd told Carol she'd do, Therese stretches across the sofa and closes her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep to pass the time until Carol returns. Her sight shifts from a blur to total darkness. Before all of this, late at night in bed, she'd will off the darkness and loneliness with the promise of the morning to come. But Therese now realizes that her days no longer bring the assurance of sun and the opportunity that fills the void. No matter how often she struggles, or hears a discouraging “no” from the galleries and museums, just having the ability to paint, to photograph, to _create_ is what motivates her to march through the mundane.

And now, all of that is gone.

Feeling desperate for a shower to clear her mind, and sure that Carol will be home any minute, Therese shifts from her sprawled position, reaching for her cane on the other side of the armrest. It takes her a second to find her footing, but eventually she rises, using her cane to make sure she doesn't run into anything sharp or dangerous as she explores the other side of the apartment. If she squints – which her doctor had advised her not to do, but she ignores anyway – Therese can make out the edges of the hallway walls and the doorways to various rooms. She recalls the layout to her _own_ apartment, using it to her advantage. While she knows it is likely not _exactly_ the same, it gives Therese the sense of direction she's lacking without being able to fully see what's ahead of her.

The first doorway on the left should be the bathroom if her estimation is correct. Therese runs her fingers along every surface she can find, hoping for something that will signal the bathroom – a smooth countertop, perhaps a hand towel, or even the dip of the sink. She recognizes the light switch as soon as she finds it and switches it on; a sharp ray of light from overhead illuminates the room, but only makes Therese's line of vision slightly clearer. Almost certain she's standing in front of the faucet, she relies on her muscle memory to reach forward to twist the knob. Her estimation is slightly off, however, and instead of the turning on the water, Therese knocks something over that falls with a loud crash. The room quickly fills with a sweet scent that Therese instantly recognizes. Embarrassed, she kneels down to pick up the pieces, but ends up slicing her finger on a shard of glass in the process. “Shit,” she hisses, sucking on the edge of her thumb. The metallic taste of blood is prominent on her tongue.

“Therese?” Carol calls from the front doorway.

“In here!” Therese responds. She gives Carol a few seconds to walk down the hallway before she continues. “I was just trying to find the bathroom and I think I knocked down a perfume bottle or something. I'm so sorry, Carol. I was just-”

“Therese, honey, you're bleeding.” Therese hears Carol's heels click against the bathroom tile. A second later, Carol's beside her, falling to her knees so they are level.

“I'll happily pay for another bottle,” Therese timidly offers. She jumps when Carol takes her hand.

“Don't even worry about it. I'm more concerned about you. I'm going to grab a towel and a bandaid, but I'll be right back, ok?”

The concept of being cared for makes Therese feel extremely uneasy, but when Carol returns a minute later and delicately cleans and dresses her finger, she physically relaxes. Carol's touch is soft and precise, the kind that only a mother who has soothed many cuts and bruises has. Therese shivers, a collection of goosebumps prickling up her arm and shoulder.

“Are you cold?” Carol asks naively.

“Would it bother you terribly if I asked you to help me shower?” Therese asks. Immediately, she realizes how the question sounds, and backpedals, red-faced. “No, I-I just meant. I'm a little disoriented. If you could turn me on. _It_ on. The shower on. For me. That would. Um.” Therese coughs.

 _This couldn't possibly get any worse_ , she thinks to herself. Tongue-tied, she grasps Carol's hand and pulls herself up. Unable to find her cane for support, she leans into Carol, who wraps a secure arm around her waist. She'd give anything to see the expression on the woman's face, imagining a toothy smile and a sultry raise of an eyebrow. Or perhaps it would be a look of disgust, repulsed by the mere suggestion. Therese wonders, though, if she would hold her this way if so?

Carol leads Therese's hands to the corner of the sink. When Therese appears safe and secure, she feels the hand around her slide away as Carol moves across the room. First, she hears the swish of a towel on the floor as the spilled perfume is cleaned from the tile. Then, from behind her, the shower comes to life with a hiss. As the water quickly warms, it fills the room with disorienting steam.

They stand together for a moment, the heat tickling the hair on the back of their necks. There's a question between them that goes unasked. When Carol steps forward, Therese can make out the outline of her lips with the aide of the dark red lipstick across them. Bold colors are more easy to decipher, she finds, but the picture still isn't fully clear. The tip of Therese's finger throbs – tingles; she could blame it on the cut, but deep down, she has the overwhelming urge to touch Carol's face, to commit the profile to memory and feed it as fodder to her imagination. Instead, Therese's grips the side of the sink tighter.

“I'll give you some privacy,” Carol says quietly. “There is a towel hanging on the shower door. I'll only be a few feet away, ok? If you need anything, yell.”

Unsure what else to do, Therese simply nods. When the click of Carol's heels fades away, Therese carefully strips the sweater and yoga pants she'd arrived in – _Carol's_ sweater and yoga pants. Careful not to slip, Therese inches forward until she feels her knees press against the side of the tub. She lifts one foot, then follows with the other once balanced inside. The water pressure is uncomfortable against the bruises across her body, but Therese wouldn't dream of calling Carol to adjust it. Once ready to wash, she reaches for a bar of soap, but comes up short. Her hands bump against an array of plastic bottles in her search. Therese is sure one of them is some sort of body wash, but they all smell clean and fruity, making it difficult to determine _which_ one exactly.

“Screw it,” Therese mumbles to herself, grabbing the bottle closest to her. Whatever it is, it lathers easily in her hand, and is smooth against her skin. She becomes acutely aware of each scratch and bruise as she washes down her chest, arms and legs. One scrape across her thigh, in particular, makes her jump when the soap makes contact with it; in her shock, she drops the bottle into the tub with a thud.

Barely a second passes before Carol rushes into the room. “Are you ok?” she asks, concerned. Therese sees Carol's dark silhouette on the other side of the shower curtain. It's fabric and not clear plastic – that much, she can see – but that doesn't make Therese feel any less self conscious at the thought of Carol being so close to her in such a vulnerable state. She wraps her arms around her waist instinctively, as though that would somehow hide her if Carol were to peek inside.

“I think I dropped a bottle,” Therese explains. “I'm fine, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Do you want me to get it for you?”

Therese pauses - contemplates. “No. I-I think I can do it. But thank you.”

“Of course.”

When Carol leaves, Therese quickly finishes her shower, washing off the soap as best she can. Once clean, she turns the knobs in various directions until the water no longer flows. While her sense of hearing is heightened, her sense of touch is even more elevated. Therese closes her eyes, focusing on the specks of water falling from the edge of her hair that drip across her shoulders and spine. The droplets tickle and entice her bruised, sensitive skin, and remind her of the shocking touch of Carol's fingertips. In this state, she's unsure whether she would even survive an embrace from Carol – much less any of the other scenarios playing at the forefront of her mind. Therese wraps a towel around herself and tries desperately to will the thoughts away.

She fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more :) While this story will clearly have moments of angst and self-reflection on Therese's part, she is also a goofball who has a hopeless crush on her new caretaker...I'm trying to balance both aspects as best I can. And, of course, you know I am the queen of _sloooooowburn_ , so you are all in for a wild ride :) Thank you to everyone who has read and commented - each and every one of you inspire me!


	5. Chapter 5

Therese hadn't planned to fall asleep on the couch. Post shower, she'd curled up, listened to the television with Carol quietly at her side, and eventually dozed off for the nap she had planned to take earlier in the day. Many hours later, finally well rested yet extremely sore from her injuries and the poor choice of sleeping at an odd angle in the corner of the sectional, Therese blinks up at the ceiling and contemplates what exactly her options are. Without knowing the layout of the apartment, or where Carol is in the darkness – she must have turned the lights off to allow her to rest comfortably – Therese feels slightly trapped, strangely claustrophobic in the wide open space.

“Carol?” she calls quietly, hoping that the other woman is closer than she's aware of. Therese sits up slowly while she waits for a response, cracking her neck and stretching her aching muscles. In the silence of her mind, she vows to never fall asleep on this couch again.

“Therese.” Carol's voice is husky, deeper than normal. Therese suspects it must be late, or that she's interrupted Carol's own uncomfortable couch siesta. “Are you alright?”

Therese runs her fingers through her hair, pushing her bangs back from where they've fallen messily over her face during the course of her nap. She feels especially self conscious, knowing how mussed she must look post-sleep and not being able to see herself to correct it. On a standard morning, she's barely human before a cup of coffee, a shower and a splash of concealer and mascara; throwing her injuries in the mix, she guesses she looks positively dreadful – an ideal state to be in beside a blossoming crush. “What time is it?” Therese eventually asks.

Therese hears Carol shuffle briefly on the other side of the couch, followed by the click of the iPhone unlock screen. “Almost midnight,” Carol answers. “I didn't want to wake you. You've had such an exhausting few days. I wanted to stay here with you so you wouldn't be alone.” She pauses, then adds with a soft chuckle, “Looks like I ended up dozing off myself.”

“That was very kind of you, but you really didn't have to,” Therese assures. “I'm sure I can figure out-”

“Nonsense. You must be a little out of your element here.”

Therese hears movement. Quickly thereafter, the weight shifts in the sofa and she senses Carol's closeness. The laughtrack of a 90's sitcom plays quietly in the background, but she focuses solely on the sound of Carol's voice close to her ear. A warm hand runs along her cheek and forehead, brushing away a few strands of hair she'd missed in her own feeble attempt. It's a soothing, comforting gesture, but it takes Therese by surprise.

Carol quickly apologizes, feeling Therese twitch beside her. “I didn't mean to scare you. I was just...”

“It's ok,” Therese assures, her voice hushed.

“Would you like me to take you to bed?”

Therese swallows and chokes on her own saliva with a cough. She wonders if Carol is aware of the usual meaning of such a phrase; truly, Therese has little doubt, and labels Carol Aird a tease. “Yes,” she replies, clearing her throat a few times. “T-that would be great.”

The guest bedroom is at the end of the hall, just as she'd expected it to be. Therese holds onto Carol's arm as they walk through the doorway. With the intention to simply go back to sleep, they leave the light turned down as they enter the room, which makes navigating all the more difficult for her. However, with Carol by her side, she follows her lead without any doubt.

“I can get you some pajamas, if you'd like,” Carol offers, helping Therese to the left side of the bed.

Instinctively, Therese runs her hands over the shirt and sweatpants she'd changed into earlier in the day. She feels comfortable enough as-is, but the lovely thought of Carol undressing her does briefly cross her mind.

“No, I'm ok.”

Therese pulls up the sheets and slides beneath them. When she's fully settled, she once again feels Carol beside her, resting at the edge of the bed with her legs hanging over the side. They sit together in the quiet for a few minutes. Carol strokes her hair and caresses the back of her neck. Although she'd napped for hours, the soft touch lulls Therese into a dream-like state – the strange inbetween of awake and asleep. As she begins to doze, Therese realizes something amazing: in her dreams, she can see.

**-X-X-X-X-**

Waking up the next morning is more difficult than Therese had anticipated. With the realization that the freedom of her dreams makes it possible for her to see and create, she finds herself wanting to stay within the fantasy, where she's no longer injured and where she can actually see Carol – or at least, in the way she pictures her in the depths of her mind. Her brain seems to fill in the gaps, but Therese still hopes that she will be able to confirm the details for herself one day.

The first half of the day is mostly uneventful. Carol helps her out of the bed and into the dining area, where they each enjoy a bowl of vanilla greek yogurt at the table. Having just moved in, there's little available to eat, but Carol promises she will make a trip to the grocery store as soon as she can. Just as the conversation quiets into awkward silence, there is a buzz from the intercom at the door.

“Mama, let us in!” a young girl's voice blares from the speaker. Although she'd only heard a quick, excited giggle the day of the accident, Therese immediately recognizes it.

“We come bearing groceries!”

Therese is unable to identify this second person. She briefly recalls Carol mentioning a friend taking her daughter for the evening, but she doesn't remember any details beyond that. The front door unlocks with a click. The unknown voice greets Carol with a sing-songy “hello”, followed by what Therese can only assume is a kiss by the sound of it. It's quick – perhaps on the cheek, though without her sight, she can't be sure. Regardless of the nature, it still makes her feel strangely jealous. She surely wouldn't be surprised to hear that Carol already has a special someone in her life; even without seeing her, Therese knows she's a catch. Then again, would she really just refer to her as a friend?

Her senses are quickly assaulted when a young girl barrels through the door and into her arms at the dining flat top. She winces at the pressure against her various wounds and bruises.

“Honey, get off of her,” Carol scolds, gently taking her daughter's hand. “Therese is-”

“It's ok,” she assures, patting the girl's back. “You must be Rindy, right?” Therese smiles down in the general direction of the child in her lap. It's difficult to make out much, but she does notice a flash of light brown hair and the bright pink bow pinned there.

“Are you a superhero?” Rindy asks.

Therese can't help but laugh. “A superhero?”

“Yeah! Aunt Abby told me that you saved me. So you're a superhero, right? I've never met a real superhero before!”

The girl's adorable comment makes Therese's heart melt just a bit. Before she has the chance to respond, Carol is at their side, the honey and lavender scent of her perfume always a dead giveaway.

“That's right, darling,” Carol interjects, gently squeezing Therese's shoulder. “But it took a lot to rescue you, so she's going to have to stay with us for a little while while her powers come back. What do you think about that?”

Rindy gasps in excitement. “Can she stay in my room?!”

Therese chuckles.

“Why don't you start unpacking some of your toys?” Carol suggests, trying to find reason to get the bouncing child out of Therese's lap without causing a meltdown. “The boxes should be in your room. Aunt Abby and I are going to unpack the groceries, then maybe we can all go for a walk later. How does that sound?”

Rindy barrels out of the room and down the hall.

“I'm sorry, she's just really excite-”

“You don't have to apologize,” Therese assures. “She's a sweetheart.”

From the direction of the kitchen, she can hear the shuffle of plastic bags and cabinets opening and closing. Carol's close proximity can still be felt, so Therese suspects that Abby has taken it upon herself to put the groceries away. She feels so powerless in the moment, unable to assist with such a simple task. “Can I help with anything?” she offers out of common courtesy, predicting Carol's answer before she even responds.

“Oh no, don't worry about it.”

Exactly what Therese had expected.

“I can help you into the kitchen if you'd like to join us, at least?”

Truthfully, the thought of having to make polite conversation with a total stranger sounds utterly exhausting. Yes, Carol had been a stranger too not so very long ago, but Therese feels oddly comfortable with her, as though she's known her for years instead of days. Abby's presence, on the other hand, makes her nervous in a way she can't put her finger on. As a clearly important person in Carol's life, perhaps it's the simple notion of being judged. Still, out of respect, Therese agrees with a squeeze of Carol's hand.

Walking through the kitchen entryway together, Abby greets her warmly. “It's nice to meet you, Therese. Of course, I'm sure we all wish it were under better circumstances.”

After Carol helps her onto one of the counter barstools, Therese offers an awkward smile in the direction of Abby's voice.

“Have you always lived in New York?” Abby asks, continuing the conversation while blind to Therese's clear discomfort.

“No. I grew up in the midwest. Came to New York City for school, then stayed here because the opportunities were far greater here than anywhere back home.” Therese looks down at her hands and scratches anxiously at her palms. In the moment, she realizes she hasn't spoken about her history or her family in years and, frankly, finds it difficult to find the right words to describe it – t _hem_.

Thankfully, sensing Therese's unease, Carol interjects, moving the course of the conversation into a different direction. “What did you go to school for? What opportunities were here?”

“I'm an artist,” Therese explains. “Painting, mostly, but I also dabble in photography.” The details seem to flow more naturally when Carol poses the question.

“Well, that is certainly a coincidence with Carol-”

Carol interrupts Abby with her own follow-up. “Do you have any work to show?”

“A little. I'd come to the city expecting to be overwhelmed with inspiration, but easier said than done, right?” Therese laughs somberly. “After you hear ' _no_ ' so many times, it's hard to be anything but discouraged. The never ending struggle of an artist, right?” She shrugs. The realization hits her quickly again when she adds, “I should say that I _was_ an artist. Who knows what will happen with all of this.” She points toward her face.

Therese hears Carol take a deep breath, like she's ready to recite a monologue of assurance, but Therese feels too exhausted for anyone's pity. “I'm a little tired. Would you mind leading me back to the guest room?”

“Of course.” Carol stands from her own seat, then wraps her arms around Therese to assist her.

“It was nice meeting you, Therese,” Abby calls as they travel down the hallway. “I'm sure we will see each other again.”

Therese pretends not to have heard it.

**-X-X-X-X-**

In her condition, it isn't hard to fall into a depression. Carol's presence feels like the only light in a shitstorm of darkness. For the next few days following Rindy's return, Therese mostly keeps to herself in the confines of the guest room. With the realization that she is able to see in her dreams, she sleeps as much as her body will allow, creating a vivid fantasy world. Each sleep fills in the details more and more until she has a full version of Carol, Rindy and the apartment in her mind. It's not the art she's used to, but she'll take what she can get, even if it makes her come off as cold and withdrawn to the rest of the world.

After the third day, Carol quietly enters the bedroom and greets her with a gentle caress of her shoulder. The doctor had assured Therese that, with each day, she would heal more and more, and her sight would trickle back, but 72 hours later, she feels no different. In fact, she actually feels worse, the ache settling deeper into her bones while her eyes seem even more sensitive. The small bits of color she'd been able to discern before are few and far between; she can just barely make out the golden hue of Carol's hair in the bed beside her.

“I have a surprise for you,” Carol whispers. “Would you come into the living room with me, just for a minute?”

Therese finds little use in fighting, so she walks arm in arm with Carol.

“The other day, you'd mentioned you are a painter. I'd noticed your canvas when I'd gone into your apartment to retrieve your things, but I hadn't put two and two together.”

Therese sits down in a seat that is foreign and yet completely known to her.

“I brought your easel, chair, and supplies over,” Carol explains. “I've also purchased you some textured paints. Basic colors for now, but if you like them, I will get more. Each color is labeled in a way that you will be able to feel. I suspect you are able to see at least a bit, but this way, you can create while you're healing.” She crouches down beside where Therese is seated and takes her hand, which trembles in the same way her lip does, quivering as tears burn the corners of her sore eyes. “Therese, I don't want you to feel hopeless. You _are_ an artist. Nothing, not even an injury, can take that away from you. It is something that is in your bones, in your soul. It's who you are. If you don't want to do it for yourself, do it for _me_.” She squeezes Therese's hand. “Do it for my daughter. Show her what it is like to overcome adversity, to beat the odds.”

Overwhelmed, Therese responds in the only way her body allows – she throws her arms around Carol's shoulders and neck, buries her face there, and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more :)


	6. Chapter 6

Although grateful for Carol's generous gift, Therese feels a bit shy diving right into her art with Carol hovering at her side. The learning curve to rely on touch over sight is huge, and although she's been trying, the progress is slow.

Carol doesn't push. Upon Therese's request, she moves the chair and canvas into the guest room to allow for more privacy. For days, Therese sits at her easel, trying to conjure _some_ image, something that is even the _slightest_ bitworthwhile. It's almost comical. She'd been worried that the loss of her sight would stifle her art, and yet here she is, back at the same unproductive start she was before the accident. It's all about inspiration, and Therese realizes she may have to use somewhat unconventional means to find it. With new found motivation, Therese decides to conduct her own hands-on research of the world around her that should – she hopes - boost her confidence and re-inspire an artistic state of mind.

Around 4:30 in the afternoon on a chilly Tuesday, the scent of tomato, basil and garlic lures Therese from her resting place on the sofa. Over the sound of a children's show playing on the television, she hears soft humming that she can only assume is Carol as she prepares dinner. Grasping her cane, Therese makes her way into the open kitchen space, using her knowledge of her own apartment's layout to navigate; her memory of it isn't perfect, though, and she bumps her hip roughly into the corner of the table in the process. “Shit,” she hisses.

Carol rushes to her and takes her arm. “Are you ok?”

“I'm fine.” Appreciative but frustrated, Therese gently pushes Carol's hand away. “I was hoping I could help, if you wouldn't mind too much?”

A silence fills the air that signals Carol's hesitation. It's not that Therese can really blame her. Until her sight clears a bit more and she is fully acclimated to the apartment, trusting her with knives and flames sounds like a terrible idea to any sane person. Even when she had her vision, she'd suffered many nicks and cuts while trying to make the simplest of dinners; microwaved meals have become a staple in the Belivet household in recent months. Still, cooking is an art in and of itself, and with its various smells and textures, Therese hopes that it can help her secretly improve her senses to ultimately impress not just herself, but Carol as well.

“I was planning on making homemade meatballs,” Carol eventually answers. “Would you feel comfortable putting them together with your hands?”

Therese smiles. Something like meatballs is exactly what she was hoping for. “Absolutely.”

With a gentle caress of her shoulder, Carol leads her to the edge of the counter. Outside of the vague sightline she does have, Therese can't see the other woman, but she can _sense_ her, her body pressed close behind her. Carol reaches around and clasps their hands together from above. Slowly and methodically, she dips Therese's fingertips into each bowl of ingredients. Carol says the name of each aloud, leading Therese down a makeshift assembly line that she quickly commits to memory.

“Ready?” Carol's breath is warm on the back of her neck, and Therese wonders just when the skin there had become so sensitive. Surely, if the woman standing behind her were to look closely, she would notice the quick shiver down her spine, or the hair standing at the base of her neck and down her arms. It shouldn't be this easy to unravel, but Carol does a hell of a job at it.

Eager to start and shift her focus away from how Carol's body feels against hers, Therese grasps the raw ground meat, colder than she'd anticipated from the quick feel she'd had before. It molds easily, squeezing through the space between her fingers like Play-doh. Although she'd have been a bit nauseated by it in the past, she takes her time, committing the texture to memory before tipping the bowl of eggs into the dish. Once upon another time, slimy was, well, _slimy_ , with little variation. Now, Therese recognizes the difference between consistencies. When it comes to making meatballs, it likely means little, but she knows that once the paint hits her fingertips and spreads across the canvas, those exact differences will make or break the entire piece.

At some point, Carol moves away to tend to the sauce simmering on the back burner of the stovetop. “How's it going?” she asks mid-stir.

“Good. Good. It's...” Therese taps around in search of the breadcrumbs. She swears they were just to the left of the eggs, yet she comes up short, grasping at air and the granite finish on the countertop.

Amidst her frustration, she senses Carol at her side, ready to take over the meal prep. Impending tears tickle her sinuses, but as she steps back and away, Carol speaks with encouragement, supervising but not taking over. “A bit more to the left,” she suggests, gently urging with a hand pressed against Therese's lower back. “You've almost got it.”

With a burst of motivation, Therese reaches further back on the counter and finds a handful of gritty breadcrumbs. Although Carol had to briefly assist, she still feels a boost of confidence as the ingredients bind and the meatballs form in the palm of her hands. She sets them in a row on a prep tray, ready to sear.

“These are wonderful,” Carol compliments. “I appreciate your help. I've tried to get Rindy involved with meal prep, but she's more interested in eating food than watching mom cook it.”

“At least she'll eat more than chicken nuggets,” Therese teases. “I'm pretty sure I lived on finger food and chocolate milk from Kindergarten through second grade.”

Carol chuckles. “If she had her way, I'm sure she would. Abby spoils her rotten, even though I've asked her not to. Ends up making me the bad guy when I have to tell Rindy no. But she loves her to death, and that's what godmothers are for, right?”

Godmother. The pieces of the puzzle come together a bit more for Therese. The irrational blip of jealousy she had felt before about Abby's place in the household subsides a bit, the green-eyed monster not _totally_ gone, but a lighter hue, at least – a color she can always recognize, sight or no sight.

“How's the painting going?”

The way Carol asks – coyly, subtly, but with more interest than she leads on – makes Therese beam. Uncertain as to whether Carol has gone into the guest bedroom at all and seen her lack of progress, she answers in a way that is forthright but appreciative. “Honestly? I've been having a bit of trouble finding the inspiration, but...” She pauses to find the right words. “I think I might be past that now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidenote: Hilariously enough, I had both of these chapters outlined separately, and didn't realize I had Carol making meatballs in both this and A Little Fall of Rain until I'd already started writing. Apparently she really likes Italian food, regardless of the universe ;)
> 
> This chapter is a little short, but the plus side of that is that I'm actually intending a quicker follow-up by the end of the weekend, as long as the universe plays nicely. Comments will inspire that process, as always, so talk away ;) Thanks for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

At the dinner table, with a messy splatter of spaghetti sauce on her cheeks, Rindy proudly proclaims that the meal is, without a doubt, the best she's had in her _entire_ life – all five years of it. Therese chuckles softly to herself, while Carol rolls her eyes and spins some pasta around her fork. It's something so mundane – sitting together at the dinner table – but Therese enjoys every moment of it. She remains quiet – listening, learning, admiring – as Carol and Rindy share their days with one another. As if Therese had any doubt, Carol is a wonderful mother. She is attentive and kind. Even when Rindy begins to babble on in only the way young children can, Carol comments and asks questions, genuinely interested in what her daughter has to say. Therese finds it refreshing in such a whirlwind world.

Once finished with dinner, Therese retreats to her bedroom to test her paints. She isn't quite certain what exactly she wants to focus on subject-wise, but before she'll be able to do anything, she'll have to get used to working with them, and what better way than to dive head – or _hands_ – first.

It takes a bit of fumbling to feel comfortable at the canvas. Therese is so used to her paints, brushes, and general workspace being so meticulously setup that the unavoidable chaos caused by her blindness makes her practically itch. Leaning over slightly from her seat at the easel, Therese brushes her fingertips along the bedroom carpet, searching for the plastic shopping bag filled with the paints Carol had purchased. Just as she's about to tip over the edge, her index finger hooks around the handle of the bag. Therese returns to an upright position and pulls a random jar of textured paint from the collection. She holds the container securely between her legs and twists the top open. The distinct scent of paint fills the air, bringing back so many memories – good, bad, and somewhere in-between – and if Therese hadn't already been feeling inspired, that whiff alone would seal the deal.

With a smile on her face, she dips the tips of her fingers into the paint, just enough so there is a thin layer to learn the feel of. She holds her hand up to her face in the direction of the overhead bedroom light. If she focuses long enough, she can briefly make out the hue – a lovely shade of red that reminds her of the shade of lipstick Carol had worn her first day in the hospital. Therese slides her middle and index fingers together, familiarizing herself with the varied texture of the acrylics. Admittedly, it's very different than what she is used to, but there's a strange feeling of confidence swirling inside of her that she can only attribute to Carol.

Therese shifts in her seat, aligning herself with the center of the canvas. She swirls her fingertips around it, drawing aimlessly to simply learn how to work with the new medium. Quickly – and somewhat surprisingly – she begins to feel dizzy with excitement, a spark lighting deep inside her that had been absent for so long, even before the accident. Therese bites the inside of her cheek to try and hide the grin on her face, but she fails miserably. Closing her eyes completely, she lets her sense of touch do all the work, drafting the first thing that comes to mind: Carol's lips. She can see the general shape of them so clearly, having recalled the color and general memory only moments ago. Therese gathers a bit more paint from the jar to create a thicker outline. It comes easily to her, but it's the texture and shading that proves more difficult. Not only does her injury impede her ability, but she has nothing to reference in the way she does the color. Sure, she can certainly imagine what Carol's lips must feel like, but there's nothing like firsthand experience to draw inspiration from.

Therese sighs wistfully to herself.

**-X-X-X-X-**

Although she's only been at the apartment for about a week, Therese becomes quickly aware of Carol's nighttime routine. Her internal clock is a bit off without clear sight, but Therese relies on the other woman's consistency to lead her through the evening. Once Rindy is tucked away in bed, Carol pours herself a drink, flips on the television and lounges next to where Therese regularly makes herself comfortable on the sectional – the far right side next to the lamp, where she finds it easiest to make out little specs of her surroundings with the assistance of the strong light beside her.

With Carol close beside her, Therese can hear the clink of ice cubes against the glass of the other woman's tumbler, as well as the strong scent of bourbon from inside of it. She feels a bit impressed by the strength of Carol's chosen drink, herself more akin to a simple glass of white wine at the end of the day. Then again, Therese realizes there is much she doesn't know about her new roommate.

“I have to go into work tomorrow.” Carol's voice cuts through the hum of the television. “My assistant has been handling things for the last week, but there are some meetings I need to attend that I wouldn't feel comfortable handing off to her.”

 _Assistant._ There are so many positions in the working world that require one, but all typically carry some sort of power or command.

Carol shifts toward Therese, angling her body in the girl's direction. The side of her bare foot accidentally brushes against Therese's calf, and although Therese can't be certain Carol thinks anything of it, the brief contact of skin on skin sparks through her. “Abby will be here in the morning to take Rindy back to school for a few hours. She goes to a local preschool for a few hours every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I've kept her home since we moved in and...” Carol pauses, tiptoeing around the mention of Therese's accident. She taps her fingernails nervously against the side of her glass.

Therese can sense Carol's hesitation. It hovers thickly in the air, and if she was feeling more bold, Therese would shout for Carol to just get on with it. Instead, she swallows a lump in her throat and listens carefully.

“If you would like, I can ask Abby to...stay here with you. I should only be gone for a few hours.”

At the suggestion, Therese stiffens. She knows Carol doesn't mean anything by it. On the contrary, she's just looking out for her. But she can't help but feel frustrated and infantilized.

Therese's irritation must be easy to read, as Carol takes her hand, squeezing gently. “I am certain you can care for yourself, so please don't misunderstand. I just don't want you to feel abandoned, or worried that you may need help with no one here to provide it. I promised to care for you, and I mean it. I will do anything you ask of me – give you anything you need.”

“I think I can manage on my own.” It comes out more harsh than she'd intended. To ease the burn, Therese adds, “But thank you for thinking of me. I wouldn't want to waste Abby's time. If you can help me with some small things in the morning before you leave, I'm sure I will be ok until you come home.” For good measure, she gives Carol's hand a reassuring squeeze.

Carol gulps down the remaining alcohol in her glass, finishing it with a slow sigh. Once empty, she sets the tumbler down onto the coffee table and stands. Therese expects her to say something in response – whether in agreement, or arguing to let Abby stay, just for a little bit – but Carol says nothing of the sort, instead offering her arm and body as support. “It's late. Ready for bed?”

**-X-X-X-X-**

Although her dreams have varied over the week, Carol's presence is a reoccurring theme. Often, she's just in the background, Therese recognizing she is there without fully interacting. Tonight, however, she dreams of something more. Carol stands by her side in a black cocktail dress, hair lightly curled and lips coated in the same red as Therese's paints. They stand in a crowd – an event Therese can't place – but she focuses on Carol and only Carol, trying to memorize every inch of her – from the sharp angles of her cheekbones to the smooth expanse of skin along her neckline. Someone speaks beside them, and Carol's body is shifted in that direction, conversing and laughing politely, but Therese gazes silently, logging each detail of her profile.

Therese finds every inch of Carol utterly captivating. Pale foundation keeps the older woman's skin smooth and even, but Therese's strong sense of sight within the world of her dreams makes her acutely aware of the tiny details, transfixed on the fine lines at the corner of Carol's eyes and mouth. She imagines her being self conscious about them – the use of the cover up signals that – but Therese finds them beautiful, eager to caress with the tips of her fingers.

With no punishment under the protection of sleep, Therese steps forward, forcing Carol's attention away from her current conversation. As their eyes meet, and Therese closes the space between them, less than an inch away from the mouth she's been desperate to study, a soft, repeated tap on her shoulder wakes her.

“Good morning, Therese.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) 
> 
> Comments make the author smile and inspire more! What do you think lies ahead for these two? Thank you, as always, for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very marginally not safe for work.

While Therese had certainly fantasized about a woman at her bedside, the last person to come to mind was Abby. Yet, that is exactly the voice that wakes her from her delicious dream, pulling her away just before she has the chance to steal a kiss. With a grunt, Therese buries her face in her pillow and pulls the bed sheet over her head. She can't put her finger on it, but Abby's presence makes her feel like she's woken up on the wrong side of the bed before she's even stepped foot out of it. “Morning,” she grumbles, responding out of politeness.

“Carol asked me to wake you.”

They sit together in uncomfortable silence for a short while, with Therese waiting for Abby to offer her unneeded help at Carol's bequest. She tries to conjure up the right words to politely ask Abby to leave her alone, but opts for the childish choice of holding her breath and remaining perfectly still until Abby decides to leave out of awkwardness.

“Ok, well...I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything. Holler for me?”

When the sound of footsteps slowly fades away, Therese throws the covers onto the other side of the bed and sits up straight, raising her arms slowly over her head, her back and shoulder muscles stretching deliciously as she does so. Although she's been unable to clearly see them since the start, Therese senses the bruises at her ribcage slowly fading, the sharp pain she'd felt a week ago shifting into a more tolerable, dull ache. She lowers her arms and runs a hand down her front, across the once broken skin that she assumes is now home to a nice collection of scars. Stopping just below her stomach, Therese drums her fingers against her hipbone, the vibration from it gently pulsing down between her legs. There's no doubt in her mind of the wetness that waits from the hint of contact in her dream. Biting her lip, she briefly contemplates going there, but the idea is fleeting, too nervous and self-conscious with an apartment full of people to entertain it.

Therese swings her legs over the edge of the bed, her body as close to the nightstand as possible to keep her sense of direction. She reaches her hand out and grasps for her robe, one of the articles of clothing Carol had graciously retrieved for her. While it's difficult to dress – or at least dress _well_ – without someone's assistance (and Abby is the last person she would imagine asking), the robe will suffice for now, so she throws it over her shoulders, ties it around her waist, and walks carefully out of the room and down the hall, relying not on her cane but her sense of touch as her palms slide across the walls. Barely a few steps toward the living room, she can overhear a hushed but animated conversation between Abby and Carol from the open kitchen space.

“Have you seen any of her work so far?” Therese recognizes Abby's voice asking the question.

“No, not yet. I think she started something last night, but I didn't want to pry. I'd moved everything into the bedroom to give her some privacy, and that's exactly what I'm going to give her – privacy.”

“I'd imagine there are other things you'd like to give her in that bedroom.”

Carol whispers something that Therese can't make out. It's followed by a burst of laughter that Abby joins in. “What would you suggest?” Carol asks once they've composed themselves once more. “I don't want to overstep. Take advantage of the situation. But Abby, she...”

Therese realizes she's clearly missed an important part of the conversation, but that doesn't stop the dozens of questions and scenarios that begin to swirl around her brain. The prospect of this so-called crush not being as one-sided as she'd assumed leaves her feeling giddy and hot all over, the fleece of her robe so much warmer than it had been only a moment ago. Not quite certain that she can compose herself at the moment, Therese turns on her heel as best she can and stumbles back to the bedroom, hiding there and slinking back into the safety of the bed until she hears Carol's inevitable greeting from the doorway.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Carol calls playfully. “I have to leave soon.” Therese knows Carol inches closer by the sound of her heels swishing against carpet. “Can I get you anything before I go? There's a cup of coffee and a bagel on the counter if you're hungry. I don't expect to be gone for long, but the best laid plans...”

The dresser drawer creaks as Carol pulls it open, retrieving what Therese assumes is an outfit for her to wear. Carol rests the articles on her lap, which she immediately deciphers with a swipe of her hands, soft cotton smooth and soothing against her palm. She can sense Carol standing there, waiting for her to say something, to ask for help, allowing herself to feel the caress of Carol's hands on her body in the way she desires. The words teeter on the edge of her lips. But Therese hesitates, taking a retreating step in the back and forth tango between them, neither willing to say anything in fear of embarrassment or onesided-ness. When Carol touches her face, though – caressing the side of her head and cheek warmly – she can't help but nuzzle into it, allowing herself a brief moment of contact until Carol pulls away, the faintest tremble of her hand felt against Therese's skin when she does so.

“Be home soon, ok?”

Certain her voice will crack if she utters a word, Therese merely nods as a reply.

**-X-X-X-X-**

It isn't until she's certain that Carol, Abby and Rindy have all left the apartment that Therese reemerges from the bedroom. With her cane in her right hand and the clothing from Carol in her left, she slowly finds the bathroom, reveling in the idea of showering in absolute privacy. After days of pain and frustration and ache-inducing sexual tension, she will finally have the chance to _unwind_ , in all senses of the word.

Having grown more comfortable with her surroundings, Therese switches on the shower with ease, twisting each knob to full strength to yield the strongest pressure. She finds the rough pulse from the shower head to be strangely soothing, inching the water temperature hotter and hotter each passing day until today's is practically scalding, covering her skin in red blotches that she cannot see but can certainly feel the heat radiating from long after. She washes in silence, listening to the patter of the water against the tub and curtain. It makes her wistful for the outdoors, of a warm spring rainstorm to renew and rejuvenate. It's much too cold for rain as winter slowly begins to creep into New York, but Therese longs for it just the same.

She yearns for many things. As the hot water trickles down her spine and the back of her thighs, Therese closes her eyes and tries to will the images of her dreams back, of the way she'd envisioned Carol's lips as she'd closed the space between them. Not everything has to be fantasy, though, as she recalls Carol's caress less than an hour ago, delicate fingers pressed gently against her flushed cheeks. She imagines the touch elsewhere. Already hypersensitive, Therese knows it wouldn't take much, a flick of a tongue and a brief thrust of fingers likely enough to bring her there.

In the silence of the apartment, Therese comes with a sharp whimper, barely managing to hold back Carol's name as she does.

**-X-X-X-X-**

Therese surprises herself with how capable she is on her own. Post shower, she'd dressed, eaten breakfast, brushed her hair and teeth, and managed to get herself into the living room with no major setbacks, only running into the briefest moment of disorientation while trying to navigate _back_ to the bathroom after finishing her bagel. She hadn't fallen or panicked, and while it would likely seem like nothing to most of the population, she is proud of herself nevertheless.

It isn't until she relaxes on the couch and realizes she has no idea where the remote for the television is that the helplessness creeps back in. Therese knows it is likely somewhere on the coffee table, but after a bit of fumbling around and still left empty-handed, she sinks back into the sectional and decides to just enjoy the silence – or at least, that's what she tells herself.

As promised, Carol returns in a few hours time. At first, Therese isn't exactly sure who is at the door – Abby or Carol, the sound of their clicking heels almost identical, as she has soon learned – but it's the frustrated huff and the toss of something onto the floor that makes Therese think it is Carol who has arrived home. She can sense the irritation in the air and fights with herself whether to offer a greeting or remain quiet and leave Carol alone. After a few minutes, Therese decides on the former.

“Hi.”

A surprised gasp comes from Carol's general direction. “Christ, Therese, I didn't even know you were there.” She stops to catch her breath.

“Secret agent Belivet at your service,” Therese teases. “Are you ok? You sounded-”

“Oh it's....it's nothing.” Carol grabs a glass from the cabinet, which Therese hears as it clinks down onto the counter. The trickle of liquid sounds as Carol opens a bottle and pours. “I just need a clone, I guess, because my assistant is incompetent and can't handle things when I'm not there.” She joins Therese on the couch, sinking into the cushion with a sigh. “She blew a big opportunity. If she would have just fucking _called_ me...”

There must be shock written all over Therese's face, because Carol quick backpedals. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”

“Oh no no. It was just unexpected. I haven't heard you...”

“The joys of being the mother of a preschooler,” Carol jokes. “I'm better with it than I used to be. I just end up thinking it instead of saying it. But we're both adults here so.” She settles deeper against the back of the sofa. Therese can smell the sweetness of wine nearby, which Carol gulps down quickly, sighing slowly at the end of it. The woman rolls her head back and lifts her shoulder upward, stretching the muscles in her back and cracking the bones at the base of her neck, which Therese can hear with little strain.

“Is your neck bothering you?” Therese asks, extending her hand across the back of the sofa toward where Carol sits. She rests her hand on Carol's shoulder and squeezes, immediately feeling the tight muscles resist her touch. “Good lord, you are tense.”

“A Caravaggio. She lost us a _Caravaggio_. I wanted to fire her on the spot.” As Therese begins to work at her shoulder with the pressure of her fingertips, Carol switches back to reality. “You don't have to do that.”

“I want to.” About as graceful as an elephant, Therese shifts to her knees and slides behind Carol, positioning one hand at the base of her neck while the other begins to work through the deep knot at her shoulder. “Please. It's the least I could do. I may trip over my own feet right now, but I do give one hell of a massage.”

Therese senses a weakening resolve as Carol's body falls more heavily into her. As her fingers move, she memorizes each curve and contour, particularly enamored with the feel of each vertebrae at the back of Carol's neck, and the sharp dip of her collarbone below the front of her shoulders. Therese hesitates to travel any further than that. Instead, she works her way more upward. A palm on each side of the back of Carol's neck steadies it as Therese's thumbs focus on a particularly sensitive spot behind her ears that elicits an unrestrained sigh of satisfaction. At the sound of it, Therese's whole body throbs. “Feeling good?” she manages to choke out, her voice shaking.

But Carol doesn't seem to notice in her bliss. “Mmm. Mmmhm.”

As her thumbs slide along it, Therese can feel Carol's pulse racing, pounding fast as the blood rushes to her head and cheeks. It makes Therese think of this morning, of the confession she'd overheard. The lips she's eager to feel – to kiss – are so close to her. She wonders how on Earth it is possible to be so hopelessly attracted to someone she hasn't even _seen_. Therese tilts her head and leans in closer, dragging a fingernail along the length of Carol's shoulder in a featherlight touch. Surely she can blame her blindness if it should come to it – that she hadn't realized she was so close, that it was all an accident, that she hadn't meant to...

Carol turns. “Therese.” The tone of her voice is deep, the same shockingly sultry tone she'd cursed with a few minutes before. When Carol takes her hand in hers, Therese can't help but jump, shocked by the unexpected contact and the shift in control. She can feel the heat of Carol's breath on her fingertips and against her palm, and she knows, just knows Carol's mouth is close.

Then, the apartment door opens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you all hate me yet?
> 
> Comments make the author smile and inspire more. Comments = happy author = inspired author = more chapters. 
> 
>  


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! If you haven't been following along with my other fic Canvas, you might not know that the last few weeks have been incredibly insane and difficult for the author. Rest assured, I have not forgotten about this fic, and things are looking up in general :) Enjoy this little nugget of a chapter - more to come soon, and thanks for sticking with this despite the temporary lull!

If Abby's existence didn't already bother her, the unexpected intrusion would have surely been the tipping point for Therese. Yet, while Abby is a source of annoyance for her, it pales in comparison to the pang of hurt in her chest as Carol pulls away from her, leaving her unbalanced on her knees at the back of the couch. The rational part of her realizes that it's Rindy's presence that influences Carol's actions, but the emotional side filled with self doubt wonders what is so wrong with her – so repulsive – that she has to be tossed aside with onlookers nearby.

“Hi mama!” Rindy greets excitedly. There's a quick shuffle of tiny feet, followed by a groan from Carol as the girl barrels into her.

“Hello, my darling. How was your day?”

“There's a contest and I'm gonna win it!” Rindy proclaims proudly.

Carol chuckles. “Is that so?”

“They're having the students make the art for the holiday pageant this year,” Abby explains “One student from each grade will display their work.”

“And I'm gonna win!” Rindy interrupts.

Therese sinks from her knees to a seated position, crossing her arms over her chest as she listens to the conversation between mother, daughter and....friend? She feels strangely out of place, like an outsider eavesdropping on a private exchange. If it wouldn't make the situation even more awkward, she'd assuredly tiptoe her way out of the living room; likely, they wouldn't even notice. Instead, Therese waits silently for someone to engage with her.

“Miss Therese?” Rindy's voice – suddenly focused in front of her, and Therese surmises that the girl must have wiggled away from Carol's arms – shifts from wild excitement to a timid squeak. “When we were driving home from school, Aunt Abby told me that you are an artist. I was wondering...” She pauses, and Therese imagines Rindy looking down nervously at her feet, her hands wringing in front of her. “Would you draw with me?”

“Rindy, dear, you know that Miss Therese has-”

“I'd love to,” Therese interrupts. “If you can help me to your room, I'd love to draw with you.”

Small, gentle fingers touch her palm and entwine with hers, pulling back to tug her into a standing position. The girl's strength isn't nearly enough to steady her, but Carol doesn't miss a beat, wrapping an arm around Therese's thin waist as she finds her footing. Therese doesn't forget the bit of betrayal she feels at Carol's nonchalance upon Rindy and Abby's return, but the hand at her hip makes her momentarily push the stewing anger aside.

“You really don't have to,” Carol whispers in her ear as they approach Rindy's room.

“I want to,” Therese insists. And it's true. It could be seen as simply placating the young girl, but the actual motive, Therese soon realizes, is something much more selfish. It's been ages since she's felt useful – long before the accident, perhaps even before she'd moved to the city. With her inspiration waning – Carol's influence only going so far as she teeters back and forth between simply nursing Therese back to health and potentially something _more_ – Therese will take anything artistic she can get.

As they step through the doorway, Rindy releases Therese's hand and bolts forward, rummaging here and there for the appropriate supplies that an impromptu coloring session requires. With Carol's assistance, she settles at a small table, one that Therese can imagine is perfect for tea parties. She patiently waits for Rindy to join her with whatever it is they will be coloring with.

“Pencils or crayons?”

“Crayons,” Therese answers. The wax is easier to feel on the paper, and while she might not be able to see the colors particularly well, she'll at least be able to stumble her way through some type of shape with her fingertips. She smiles politely as Rindy places a piece of paper in front of her and sticks a crayon in her right hand.

“Scarlet.” Carol relays the color quietly beside her. The leg of a chair drags across the carpet as Carol takes a seat next to her at the square table. Therese hadn't expected her to stay, and she suddenly feels a little self conscious with an audience older than five years old.

“Mama, do you want to draw too?”

“Oh, no honey. I'm just going to watch.”

Within moments, the three fall into a comfortable rhythm. Rindy scribbles away excitedly, pressing the tip of her crayon into the paper with such force that Therese practically cringes at the sound. She wants to give some guidance – suggest the girl loosens her grip and uses small circles that are easier to blend – but ultimately decides against it, waiting for the right moment where she can teach without crushing blossoming creativity.

Rindy isn't the only one who draws. Therese starts with a few circles next to each other in the scarlet shade Carol hands her. She presses down to create a thicker base that she can feel, then fills in the shape with a softer hand, using her left to guide her. As the outline of an apple forms in the middle of the page, Carol searches for complimenting shades in the box of crayons. “I think this one,” she suggests, waiting for Therese to pause before gently resting their palms together to exchange colors. It's a fleeting touch, but the skin tingles there even after Carol returns the scarlet crayon to its place in the box and swaps it for a darker red, or “garnet” as Carol relays.

When she isn't suggesting colors, Carol sits quietly at the table. Therese imagines she watches Rindy, sharing encouraging glances and smiles to her daughter across the way, but for some reason she can't explain, Therese feels Carol's eyes on her and the paper beneath her hand, watching – perhaps admiring? She has no way to be sure with how silent Carol remains, not criticizing, but sharing no compliments either. Therese wonders if Carol would say anything if they were alone at her easel. They could make a fine pair, she imagines.

The carpet rustles as Carol scoots her chair closer. Therese can almost feel Carol's breath at her shoulder as she watches over it.

“Mama, what do you think of my drawing?”

“You're doing wonderfully, darling,” Carol compliments.

“And Miss Therese?”

Therese bites her lip at the open-ended question. Of course Rindy means her drawing, but she wonders what Carol would say if she would answer the question fully – what _does_ she think of her?

“Lovely,” Carol eventually replies. “Absolutely lovely.”

Beneath the table, Therese feels Carol's hand on her leg, sliding from the curve of her knee to rest against her thigh. Despite trying her best to play it cool, the tiniest squeak escapes her lips; she suddenly feels even more desperate for her sense of sight, if only to see Carol's reaction to it.

Then, to Therese's dismay, it ends. Carol pulls away and stands, briefly brushing her fingertips along Therese's shoulder before walking over to the door. “I'm going to help Aunt Abby with dinner. You be a good girl, Rindy, and listen to Therese. I'll be back in a little bit, ok?”

“Yes mama.”

Therese just nods. She only has a moment to pout over Carol's disappearance before Rindy chats excitedly with her. “Do you think I can be as good as you one day?” she asks innocently.

Therese laughs, quick and breathy. “Oh...well, I'm sure you are already wonderful. Art is like any other skill – like riding a bike or playing baseball. You have to practice, practice, practice whenever you can. Try different things. You'll find your favorites, but it's important to learn all sorts of techniques. And never fall out of love with it. As soon as it becomes a chore instead of something you love to do, that's when you need to walk away for awhile and find out how to spark that passion again.” At the end of her speech, Therese blinks down at her hands, willing them into focus. She realizes just how deep her words are, and how absolutely inappropriate they are when giving advice to a _five_ year old. She sighs, trying to find a simpler way to put it, but Rindy interrupts her before she has the chance.

“Mama always says that if I try really hard, do my best in school, and practice, that one day she might hang one of my drawings in her gallery!”

Therese drops the crayon in her hand and looks up in Rindy's direction. “Your mom said-she said that, huh?” A _gallery_. She hadn't even connected the dots when Carol had ranted frustratingly about losing the Caravaggio opportunity. The owner – curator? Director? Therese isn't sure – of a _gallery_ has been watching her draw a fucking _apple_ with some Crayola crayons. The opportunity she's worked toward for years is within arm's length, so easily at her disposal, and yet _these_ are the circumstances. Carol probably thinks of her as a fool. _Lovely_. She recalls the way Carol had described her work – described _her –_ and wonders what that even really _means_.

Why hadn't Carol told her? Especially when she'd found out about her art? Therese pinches the bridge of her nose, suddenly feeling a bit dizzy.

“Is Mama going to hang some of your art in the gallery?” Rindy asks innocently.

“Oh I-I don't know,” Therese answers honestly. “I...I really don't know. I'm sure your mom deals with much more famous artists than me. It's very unlikely that-”

“No, I just know she's gonna do it. And if not, I'll tell her I won't eat any of my vegetables ever again unless she does!”

As crummy as she feels, Therese still laughs at the girl's threat. “Well, then, she would have to do it, I guess!”

Rindy giggles.

**-X-X-X-X-**

Although Abby helps cook dinner – macaroni and cheese with meatloaf and green beans – she doesn't stay to eat it, citing a date as an excuse. Carol teases her about it on her way out, while Therese feels a strange wave of relief. At the dinner table, mother and daughter excitedly discuss their days, while Therese simply listens, hiding behind mouthfuls of creamy noodles whenever there is a lull in the conversation. When her plate is clean, Therese excuses herself, sets her dish on the counter and escapes to the shower to relieve the frustration of the day.

She's certain Carol sensed her shift in mood. Throughout their meal, Carol had tried to pull Therese into the discussion, but she'd politely refused. On the one hand, she knows she's being immature about the situation. Carol owes her no explanation. They're not lovers, not friends – barely roommates. As soon as she is healed, she'll be on her way, with Carol – and her gallery – a thing of the past. But there's a strange connection between them that goes beyond the accident, and beyond the role of a caretaker. She imagines something more, something that secrets have no place near. Had Carol expected her to react negatively? Try to use the information to her advantage? Or perhaps she wasn't really keeping anything from her at all; perhaps, instead, she was just waiting for the right moment, not wanting to overwhelm her, make her wonder if the motives and intentions had been skewed in any direction.

When Therese returns to her room after her shower, she's greeted by the sound of Carol's startled voice.

“Oh, Therese, I....I didn't mean to-”

She could have just as easily snuck out without being noticed. Without a sound, Therese wouldn't have had any idea she was there. There's something refreshing about her honesty – especially after the day's earlier revelation – that Therese is more surprised than angered by Carol's presence in her bedroom.

“I was just looking at...your canvas. It's...it's coming along beautifully, Therese. I'm sorry, I know it's private and I should have waited for you to-”

“Carol.” Therese's voice is low. She holds the collar of her robe close to her chest, shivering as a few droplets of water trickle from the end of her hair and over her collarbone. The chill only sets deeper in her bones when Carol moves close to her, away from the easel at the corner of the room.

“How are you adjusting to the paints?”

“Just fine.”

“That's....good.” Carol pauses, then clears her throat. “Still feeling inspired?”

Therese raises an eyebrow, unsure where Carol is going with this. “Mostly. You'd be surprised how hard it is to paint solely from memory.”

“From memory?”

“Well, I can't exactly see-” Therese stops when Carol takes her hand and lifts it up toward her face. Her fingertips brush against smooth skin with Carol's lead, along the curve of a strong cheek before resting against her chin, just below her lower lip. She can feel the texture of the matte lipstick spread there as she inches her thumb upward, and the image of it seems to trickle from her fingertips and up her arm into her memory, leaving an imprint that she'd otherwise not been able to conjure on her own.

“I want to help you,” Carol confesses. “Help with your inspiration because this,” she turns her body, and Therese assumes she's pointing to the canvas with the beginnings of a portrait on it, “is really incredible. I know, I know, you'll say it isn't much, but Therese, I see this every day. Artists creating. Artists studying. Artists _trying_ too hard. But this is...effortless, even though it _isn't_. So I want to foster this, and do what ever I can for you to-”

Therese shifts onto her tiptoes, rocking forward to gain some height, and silences Carol, replacing her thumb with her lips in a feather-light kiss. If the earlier touch had given her a spark of creativity, the kiss starts a fire, a shockwave of color exploding behind her eyelids as she closes them and revels in the feel of Carol's mouth against hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick nugget of a chapter filled with some delicious chemistry!

At first, Carol doesn't move, frozen as Therese pulls away for a breath. The silence is long enough that embarrassment begins to swirl in Therese's stomach, replacing the butterflies that flutter there. Feeling a bit unsteady, she takes a step back and reaches behind her for anything – the bed, a dresser, something to ground her as she finds clarity among the blur. Instead, she finds the support in Carol, who wraps her arm around her waist and pulls her back, the other hand at her neck and jawline. Therese feels the warmth of Carol's breath as she moves closer, which starts as a warm tickle at the corner of her mouth but grows into something hotter when Carol presses their lips together.

If she'd lacked inspiration before, Therese now feels overwhelmed with it, the imprint of Carol's touch embedded in her mind. The lips that had been barely more than a blur before now appear so vividly. With little hesitation, she could create a masterpiece from the vision of Carol's face that she has pieced together – soft, strong, with a subtle curve along her mouth and sharp, contrasting angles at her cheekbones. When Carol ends their kiss, Therese explores for a fleeting moment in her own way, brushing the index and middle fingers of one hand along the side of Carol's face.

Therese has fantasized about this moment – about a romantic embrace, and the potential tryst it's foreplay to. But her voice betrays her when she doesn't ask Carol to bed, but rather to her easel as a rush of creativity pulses through her. Carol leads her there without a word. Although Therese doesn't ask for the help, she doesn't argue as Carol prepares the space for her. As they had with crayons earlier in the evening, they exchange paints – one relaying the color while the other works the paint between her fingers, familiarizing herself once again with the texture.

Carol's presence at her side is intense – almost more than she can handle at once. The shape of perfect lips comes to life, the memory of their kiss easy to recall and draft. With beige on her fingertips, Therese outlines a few inches around the shades of red to form the base of cheeks and a jaw. As she tries to relay the right angles and curves, she yearns to touch Carol's face again. She could hide under the guise of simply needing an artistic reference; it would be half true, she supposes – better than a complete lie. Yet Therese refrains, hoping her guesses aren't complete failures.

The time passes quickly. Therese finds that her limited sight makes it easier to lose track of it, but the quiet sound of a yawn beside her – which Carol politely tries to hide – signals just how long they've been sitting together in the silence, saying nothing but creating something strangely beautiful as a pair. She balances the open jar between her legs, allowing the side of her robe to fall open slightly. The chill of the air tickles her skin, and as Therese runs her hands over the ridges across the canvas, taking in the full picture of the abstract face that comes to life beneath her fingertips, she wishes for Carol to do the same – to caress what she's given subtly and willingly. “Are you tired?”

“I'm sorry,” Carol apologizes, shifting in her seat. “I'm focused, really. It's just been a long day.”

“I think I'm finished for now.” Therese holds the acrylic out across from her chest. She listens as Carol takes it, twists the lid shut tight and tosses the jar back into the bag of supplies, shifting from her seat to do so. Therese shivers as she feels Carol standing behind her, one hand at her shoulder while the other combs through a few damp strands of dark hair.

“Therese,” Carol's voice is deep, strangely sultry in a way Therese hasn't heard it before. She wonders if she's imagined it – if she's fallen asleep at her easel and that the whole night has been nothing more than a dream. Bringing the nail of her index finger to her thumb, she presses down hard, trying to startle herself awake. But nothing changes except for Carol's distance, closer now as she bends slightly at the waist and dips her head to kiss the fabric at Therese's shoulder. It's certainly symbolic – a thin barrier between them, so easily removable but terrifying to even fathom, like the uncertainty and hesitancy tingling at their lips and fingertips. Therese wonders whether either of them will ever have the courage to be bold enough.

Almost like tiptoeing, Carol pushes the collar of the robe aside – barely an inch, but Therese would notice even a centimeter if Carol's doing. It almost doesn't register at first, when the heat of shaking breath and desperate lips press against her shoulder and up against the side of her neck. Like the swirl of paint across from her and on her hands, Therese wonders if her skin has become Carol's own canvas, imprints of dark lipstick spread across her with each kiss.

“You should sleep,” Carol whispers. Therese feels the heat of her breath everywhere – the shell of her ear, across her shoulder, seeped into the pulse at her neck and through every drop of blood that races through her body.

Therese resists the urge to turn and hold Carol's face – paint smeared palms and all. Just one kiss, she tells herself. Inevitably, though, there would be another, and another, and although they'd found some semblance of self control before, the adrenaline of her art only enhances the need – the tingling in her chest and between her thighs. “I suppose you're right.” Therese exhales slowly through her nose. “Goodnight, Carol.”

“Goodnight dear. Until tomorrow.”

Carol's perfume lingers against Therese's robe long after she leaves. After a quick trip to the sink to wash her hands, she falls into bed with a sigh and sinks into the comfort of her robe, nuzzling her face to the side as the scent of Carol lulls her into fantasy within the privacy of her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> They kissed! They finally kissed! 
> 
> Not much, but something, right? ;) Admittedly, this whole scene was going to be about a paragraph in my head - _maybe_ two - and evolved into this. As it's been far too long since the last update, I figured I would present this little snippet of heat between them leading into the plot-pushing next chapter. I hope it did not disappoint. Comments make the author smile and inspire more - the next update is not far away this time!


	11. Chapter 11

While Therese finds it easy to fall asleep, _staying_ asleep proves more difficult. She scoots to the edge of the mattress and cranes her neck in the direction of the digital clock at her bedside table. Squinting, it just barely comes into focus; Therese makes out a red “3” at the far left side and determines there's quite some time before the rest of the house wakes for the day. Back at her apartment, she would have grabbed a book or aimlessly scrolled through social media on her cell phone before dozing some time later. Tonight, however, her options are limited. She closes her eyes and wills herself back to sleep.

After tossing back and forth for awhile, she grumbles in frustration. It becomes apparent that her mind is not going to give in to the rest her body is desperate for. Therese wonders if Carol is awake, trying to find her own comfort just a few doors down; at three in the morning, though, it's likely she's been asleep for hours. If it wouldn't wake Rindy, Therese might just call for the older woman, if only to have the opportunity to lay beside her for a fleeting moment. Then again, she wouldn't want Carol to be startled awake and fear something was wrong from Therese's own selfishness. Perhaps a bolder, more confident version of herself would venture into Carol's bedroom, curling up beside her not for sex but _intimacy_ , the warmth and closeness she craves that would soothe her back to sleep.

There's little differentiation between the haziness of day and night when it's dreamless, and it isn't until a gentle nudge on the shoulder startles her that Therese realizes she's nodded off. Exhausted from hours of tossing and turning, she shifts to bury her face in the sheet, expecting to hear Abby's voice beside her. Instead, it's Carol who wakes her with a soft “ _good morning_ ” and runs her fingers through the tangled hair spread across Therese's face and pillow.

Embarrassed, Therese sits upright, pulling the blanket over herself to hide the disheveled state she can't really see but can certainly feel. The robe she'd fallen asleep in hangs loosely over her shoulder, just as Carol had shifted it to sit last night at the easel, and Therese wonders if Carol notices the exposed skin at her collarbone. She could easily steal a glance without the worry of being caught. The thought makes Therese blush.

“Are you ready for today?” Carol asks, shifting slightly at the edge of the bed.

Therese rubs at her eyes with the back of her hands out of habit - something she quickly regrets when the nerves pulse and the slightly bruised skin just above her cheekbones throb. “Ready for what, exactly?” Her voice is airy and low from sleep.

“Your first follow-up? I helped schedule it when I first took you home. Did you forget?”

Therese runs her fingers through her hair to tame the frizz and knots. Although it's only been about a week, the days have quickly become a blur, and while her injury plays at the forefront of every tiny thing she currently does, in a strange way, Carol's influence on her art over the past few days has almost made her forget all about the horrific event just a few days ago. “Yeah, I guess it slipped my mind.”

“I'm going to make Rindy some breakfast before we go. Abby should be here any minute. I put out a sweater and some jeans at the end of the bed – you were sleeping like the dead when I walked in.” Carol laughs softly. “I'll see you in the kitchen?”

Therese responds with a nod. When the shuffle of Carol's footsteps quiets as she moves down the hallway, Therese slinks back into the mattress with a groan, feeling embarrassed. She worries that Carol might think of her as a child – someone who isn't even responsible enough to remember her _own_ doctor's appointment. If she'd been making progress, it's now two steps back with her incompetence.

Therese stretches her legs and wiggles her toes, yawning loudly as she does so. Despite the stretch, the tension and fatigue still linger in her calves and radiate upward into the rest of her body. If it were up to her, she would sleep for several hours more. But the last thing she wants to do is keep Carol waiting, so with a slow exhale, Therese manages to get herself upright and out of bed. With each day, she finds it easier to maneuver around despite her limited sight. While the first day's attempt at self-dressing had been almost comical, it's much less of a struggle now. She briefly runs into trouble with the jeans, which take a bit of bouncing and tugging to sit comfortably at her hips after being used to wearing yoga paints for a week straight, but it isn't long until Therese is properly dressed, ready to tackle the morning's impending appointment.

After a quick stop in the bathroom to freshen up, she travels down the hallway with her cane in hand. Without much else to focus on, Therese suddenly realizes how nervous she is. With a severe case of White Coat Syndrome, she avoids doctors and hospitals like the plague. She knows this is an inevitable next step in her recovery, and perhaps having Carol at her side will ease her anxiety, but her stomach churns as she steps into the kitchen and stumbles to the counter.

“Would you like some oatmeal? I just fixed Rindy a bowl. I can put another one together if you-”

“No, I'm good.” The trace smell of apple cinnamon oats – while delicious any other time – makes her slightly nauseous. “I'm not really up for breakfast this morning.”

“Are you ok?” Metal utensils clink softly against the countertop as Carol sets them down and moves toward Therese to caress her shoulder.

“Y-yeah, I'm just-”

Carol's cell phone rings. She pulls away from Therese – much to the younger woman's dismay – and taps repeatedly against the front of the screen until the tone stops. “Are you here?” There's a pause as a woman responds on the other end. It's muffled, but Therese guesses it's Abby. “Alright, we'll be down in a minute.”

“Is Abby taking us?”

“No. But she's got my spare key and is going to bring the car around for us so I don't have to leave you.”

Conflicted by Carol's words, Therese looks down at the blurry outline of her feet and nods. That Carol cares enough to stay at her side means more than she can clearly express; she's not even sure her own family would have done the same. Yet, on the flip side of the coin, she hates appearing so helpless, unable to walk down a flight of stairs or stand on the sidewalk and wait for a ride without needing assistance.

“I don't think I grabbed your coat from your apartment,” Carol explains, pulling her own coat along her arms and over her body with a swish that Therese can hear; there might be a hat or scarf to accessorize, but she can't be sure. “Would you like me to stop in and get one for you, or would you be ok with wearing one of mine?”

Therese's breath hitches. “One of yours is fine.”

Carol disappears briefly, then returns with a fleece-lined winter coat that she promptly slides over Therese's body. It's a bit too long with their height difference – the bottom of it stopping just above her knees – but Therese wouldn't dare say anything of it. Like all of Carol's other clothes, the fabric smells faintly of her perfume at the collar, which makes Therese feel lightheaded in a way she can't honestly attribute to her nerves. Just as she's about to fasten the thick buttons at the front of it, Carol steps forward and takes them into her own hands, sliding them through the holes at Therese's breast and waist.

“You look great,” Carol compliments.

Therese shrugs sheepishly. “Thanks.”

The two share a quiet moment, standing in front of each other, face-to-face. Carol runs her fingers along the collar of the coat, straightening it as she does so. Even with the layers between them, Therese can sense the touch as though it were right against her skin.

“Well then.” Carol rests her hand just over where Therese's heart pounds. She only leaves it there for a moment, and Therese wonders if she can feel the racing beneath the thick fabric. “Rindy dear,” Carol turns back toward the kitchen counter, “Therese and I have to go out for a bit today. Abby will be up here as soon as she's done with the car.” She gathers her belongings from around the kitchen and adjacent room, her heels clicking against the tile as she moves back and forth; Therese waits for her with her hands sunk deep into the pockets at her side. “You be a good girl today, ok?” There's a pause, then the quick sound of a kiss – on the top of the girl's head or perhaps her cheek, Therese guesses. “We'll be back soon.”

“Bye mama,” Rindy responds with a mouthful of oatmeal. “Bye Therese!”

“Ready to go?”

When Carol links their arms together, Therese is certain that even if she wanted to, there's no way she would say no, if only to be this close for even a fleeting moment. “Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose.”

Walking down the staircase proves more difficult than Therese had expected. Without Carol at her side, she'd have tumbled down after the first few steps. But Carol is relentless in her support, holding her gently yet securely at the arm and waist, quietly encouraging her as they travel down to the first floor of the apartment building. Just as Therese is certain she can't do it anymore – her legs shaking and her head spinning as the blur of the staircase swirls around her – they arrive at the entryway. With expert coordination that Therese finds extremely impressive (and strangely attractive), Carol holds the door open with one hand and leads her through it with the other.

When the cold air fills her lungs and trickles over the few spots of bare skin, Therese's breath catches in her throat. Had the weather really changed so much in the span of a week? She remembers the frost against the window the morning of the accident, but this is a different kind of cold – the kind that sneaks in during the dead of winter and washes away all traces of the crispness of autumn. It's the kind that encourages chicken soup and cuddling by the fireplace. The cold is strangely refreshing after having been stuck inside for a week, but even in Carol's arms, Therese can't hold back the shiver that runs down her spine and through her body.

“It's fucking _cold_ ,” Carol comments with a laugh. She pulls away for just a moment, then returns to Therese's side to tie her scarf gently around the trembling girl's neck. “I think you need this more than I do.”

“Oh, I couldn't-”

“Shhhhhh.”

Before Therese has a chance to really argue, a car pulls up next to where they stand on the sidewalk. Abby greets them, and Carol responds in kind before opening the passenger's door. “Mademoiselle,” she teases as she ushers Therese into the seat.

“Why thank you,” Therese answers playfully. She tries not to eavesdrop as Carol and Abby speak briefly outside of the car, exchanging pleasantries and laughing with each other as old friends do. Only a minute or so later, the driver's side door opens and Carol slides into it, adjusting the seat to her comfort level before putting the car back into drive. They move slowly down the road, just as they had the day they'd come home from the hospital, and the same nausea she'd felt before creeps back in as the city rushes blurrily on the other side of the window. Therese swallows the acid burning at the back of her throat and breathes slowly, willing the nausea away.

When the ringtone of Carol's phone blares through the car's speakers, Therese yelps in surprise.

“Shit, I'm sorry,” Carol taps at the center console. “I hadn't expected – good morning, Carol Aird speaking.”

“Carol, you need to come in.”

The low-yet-soothing tone of Carol's voice shifts into something more stern and business-like. “Carmen, I have more important things to deal with right now. I have complete faith that you can't fuck it up any more than you already have.”

Ouch. Therese bites back a chuckle.

“We need a replacement for the Caravaggio. I've called three other galleries. Countless museums. No one has anything they can loan us right now. I tried Steve and Amber and they said it will be over a month before they could have anything new for us.”

“If we don't fill that spot, Carmen, it's going to be both of our heads. Do you know how ridiculous that gallery is going to look with a giant gap in the middle? Without a headlining piece?”

Therese turns and stares out the window, feeling awkward, like a child caught in the middle of his parent's argument.

“Carol, I'm working on it, but how are we supposed to find someone with such short notice? I can try calling some universities, but who knows what the quality might be.”

When Carol takes her hand – lacing their fingers together before giving it a quick squeeze – Therese actually jumps in surprise. The contact is unexpected to say the least, but it signals something that she doesn't quite understand – that is, until she listens more closely to the conversation beside her.

“I have a replacement. Now I have to go.”

“You do? Who is-”

“I'll call you later. Goodbye, Carmen.” Carol pulls her hand away to end the call.

Had she heard that correctly? Therese begins to tremble again, and this time it has absolutely nothing to do with the cold. “So you were able to find someone?” she asks inconspicuously, trying not to jump to conclusions.

Although she can't really see it, Therese can practically _hear_ the smile in Carol's voice. “Yes, I believe I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuun! The plot thickens and yet rushes full steam ahead now!
> 
> Comments make the author smile and inspire more. We'll be heading back into Canvas-land for a little while, but fear not - more is on its way. Come say hi to me over there as well :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been way too long, but I am hoping to make up for lost time :)

As is always the case in a hospital setting, the pair find themselves waiting a _ridiculous_ amount of time for Therese's appointment. Typically plagued with horrible White Coat Syndrome, Therese instead finds herself more focused on Carol's words from the car – a welcomed distraction in an otherwise miserable situation. Carol had implied (in her not-so-subtle way) that _she_ would be the one to fill the gallery vacancy, and the idea alone terrifies Therese. She wonders whether she even has the option to say no. But maybe she'd only misheard or – even worse – _assumed_. Getting worked up over someone else's opportunity would only make her look like more of a fool. As they wait for Dr. Rendam, Therese tries to keep her composure, even if Carol's presence spurs on the butterflies in her stomach.

A nurse pops in to take Therese's vitals with warm hands and a cold stethoscope, but she exits as quickly as she enters, leaving the two alone once again in the deafening silence. Therese sits at the end of the examination table, her legs dangling over the edge, while Carol remains beside her. As the time passes, Carol absentmindedly strokes her shoulder, and Therese wonders whether she even realizes what she's doing, or whether it is the habit of a mother, always soothing and comforting.

A clock ticks behind them on the wall. Therese listens to it closely, counting the seconds, then minutes as they blur into each other. It's a soft sound, but as time continues to pass, she swears it gradually grows louder, so much so that she's certain she'll go mad if she has to listen to even another minute's worth of ticking.

Dr. Rendam's entrance saves her from impending insanity. When Carol removes her hand and steps away, Therese grabs for her by impulse, desperate to keep the woman at her side throughout the examination.

“How are we doing today, Therese?” Rendam asks, fingering through her chart as he moves closer.

“Okay, I guess.” Unable to control her fidgeting, Therese wrings her hands, twisting them back and forth in her lap. When she was a child, she was constantly scolded for her nervous habits. More than once, she'd gnawed her fingernails down to the skin. Adulthood has afforded her a bit more confidence, but high stress situations inevitably bring out the child in her, and Therese can't help but squirm as the doctor asks her a series of questions.

“How are you feeling? What is your pain level on a scale of one to ten? Has your vision improved at all since I last saw you?”

Before Therese has a chance to say much of anything, large hands unexpectedly brush over her eyes. The room waits for the answer to the million dollar question, but Therese finds it difficult to speak as Rendam pokes and pulls at her eyelids. Although most of her pain has dulled over the week, the exam seems to bring it all back to the surface; she holds her breath and curses the tears that blur what little vision she has. “It's still pretty fuzzy,” she explains, her voice shaky. “Some days are better than others. I can make out colors and shapes a little more in the morning, but everything is pretty unrecognizable by the end of the day.”

A strong wave of brightness passes over each of eye, and Therese guesses it's the doctor's penlight. Without anyone speaking, in his closeness, she can hear the rumble of his breath as he watches the response of each pupil. “Although the progress seems small, you're on the path to recovery,” Rendam explains. “You've healed significantly since you were first here, even if your vision doesn't seem to have improved much. However, there's still a lot of swelling. I'm going to prescribe you some eyedrops that should help relieve some of it. I feel confident that with time, your vision will improve significantly, if not come back completely.”

Therese feels a rush of excitement in her chest at the good news. Just a week ago, the likelihood of her ever being able to see again was so unknown, yet the proverbial end is now in sight; she smiles at her own mental pun.

“Do you have any questions or concerns?”

“Is there anything we should watch out for? ” It's Carol, not Therese, who asks. “What can I do to help her?”

Therese turns toward the sound of Carol's voice and listens intently, her head cocked to the side. She knows she should focus on the doctor's answer, but she's more interested in Carol, in the questions she asks and the intent of her body language as she steps closer and caresses the center of the younger woman's back.

“Everything I said a week ago still applies. Watch out for any outward swelling near the cheekbones. Any prolonged headaches as well. Overall, though, I'd recommend keeping to your normal routine as much as you possibly can. It will make things easier as you continue to heal.”

“How often should I use the eyedrops?” Therese inquires.

“I'd recommend once in the morning when you wake up and once before bed. You'll likely see better results if you keep it on a consistent schedule.”

“I'm awful at remembering to take anything,” Therese confesses. “I suppose you're going to have to keep on me.” She tilts her head back. Although she can't see Carol, she imagines a teasing smile on the woman's face.

“I think I can do that,” Carol agrees playfully.

**-X-X-X-X-**

“Is something wrong with your food?”

As they'd left Dr. Rendam's office, Carol had suggested grabbing an early lunch before returning home to Rindy. Since the nervous churning in her stomach had mostly subsided and was replaced with a hungry rumble – the result of no breakfast – Therese had eagerly agreed. But the uneasy feeling quickly returned when the waiter greeted them and Therese realized she couldn't read the menu, nor would she be able to easily see whatever meal choice she'd make.

Sensing the younger woman's unease, Carol had graciously offered to read the lunch menu to her. Therese was, of course, appreciative, but it only made her feel _more_ helpless. A burger had seemed like an easy choice – something she could pick up and eat with her hands – but after the first bite had dribbled a large glob of grease, ketchup, and mustard across her face and down her chin, she feels too embarrassed to continue eating it, worried she will look like a messy fool.

Therese wipes her hands on the napkin in her lap and shakes her head. “Oh, no no. I just...” She looks forward at Carol, certain she's caught her gaze. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“In the car, you'd told your assistant that you'd found a replacement for your gallery.” Therese waits to see if Carol says anything. When she doesn't, Therese takes a sip of water and continues. “I don't want to be presumptuous, and you certainly don't owe it to me, but were you-”

Carol's laugh interrupts her.

“Yes, dear, I meant you. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it sooner. I'm amazed at what you've been able to do so far. This whole situation is frustrating, I'm sure, but why not turn it into an opportunity?”

“You're not just doing this out of pity?”

Carol scoffs. “ _Pity_? Therese, it's my career on the line too. If I bring in something that isn't up to standard, it's _my_ ass on the line.” She stops and takes a bite of her meal – grilled chicken with arugula dressed in a lemon vinaigrette. Her fork falls back onto the plate with a quiet ' _ting_ ' before Carol speaks again. “Shit, I just realized... _please_ don't think I'm forcing you to do this. I would never want you to do something that makes you feel uncomfortable.”

“It's not that.” Therese munches on a house-made kettle chip. “Do you know how many galleries I've submitted my work to? How many times I've been rejected? And now it's just being handed to me. It just feels...strange. Like I'm not worthy of it.”

“You're not being handed it. I promise you, you're not.”

Therese sighs. “What's worse is I can't even really _see_ what I'm creating. I don't even know if it's my best. What if I make a fool of myself?”

“I will never, _ever_ let you make a fool of yourself.” Carol reaches across the table and takes Therese's hand in hers. “You are too critical of yourself. We women all are. _Artists_ especially.”

Therese laughs quietly.

“You know I'm right.”

“I didn't say you weren't.” Therese squeezes Carol's hand. “What's the deadline for this piece?”

“The show is in 2 weeks. I'd need it at least a few days before. The sooner the better, really, but I don't want you to feel rushed.”

Even before all of this, she'd struggled to finish a piece after _months_ of work. The last time she'd been on such a tight deadline was in college, and even then, the end result was hardly great, and certainly wasn't going to be shown in a professional setting. Back then, though, she hadn't had someone like Carol Aird at her side.

“I'll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments make the author smile and inspire more. Things seem to be falling into place for these two, but you know there is some inevitable conflict ahead ;) What do you think will happen?
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read and commented thus far!


	13. Chapter 13

As the initial excitement dwindles, Therese sits at her easel with a sense of dread churning in her stomach. She'd felt so inspired in the moment, with Carol entrusting her with such an important task and opportunity. But when the reality of the situation sets in as the afternoon hours pass, her confidence fades with them.

Frustrated, she taps against the lid of one of her acrylics, as though the mere movement of her fingertips will somehow conjure the urge to paint.

Occasionally, she hears the tantalizing sound of Carol's laugh down the hall, followed by Abby's own excited cackle. It's hard to make out their girlish gossip from her bedroom, but Therese would bet good money that Abby knows about her involvement in the upcoming gallery show. If she had the gumption, she would join them in the living room and talk herself up, about her history in the arts, and her talent, and how Carol has chosen _her_ after only seeing a small sample of her work; perhaps Abby would be – _imagine_ it – _impressed_. Why she feels so threatened by Abby remains a mystery to her.

Except, if Therese is honest with herself, it's no mystery at all. She knows _exactly_ why she feels threatened, and it has everything to do with Carol “My-Voice-Alone-Brings-Women-to-Their-Knees” Aird.

They'd shared a kiss. A knee-buckling kiss. A kiss that Carol melted into – even returned in kind. It alone should be enough to prove to Therese that the way she feels is far from one-sided, but her insecurities overtake the part of her brain that is responsible for rational thinking.

Matching her mood, she tosses the red paint in her lap aside and picks up a shade of blue instead. She can only vaguely see the color, but the piece of smooth ribbon taped to the top of the jar - courtesy of Carol - helps her choose the correct hue. The blue acrylic feels slightly thicker than the red she's predominantly worked with. It's easier to mold on the canvas with her fingers, and before long, the top of her canvas is filled with blue strokes of various widths and textures. Therese leans in closely and squints. As her eyes focus, she runs her fingers over the fresh paint. She's amazed by the way her sense of touch can help fill in the blanks, and even though it's mostly a blur in front of her, in a strange way, she couldn't picture it any more vividly if she tried.

**-X-X-X-X-**

She paints for hours. At one point in the early evening, Therese hears Abby call that dinner Is ready – the fact that Abby has stayed for the _entire_ day is not lost on her – but she ignores the invitation in favor of continuing her work. The strokes come effortlessly. She blends colors together on her fingertips and memorizes the way different shades feel to replicate them in the future. It isn't until her stomach starts to growl incessantly that Therese finally closes her paints and stops for the day.

Hands covered in paint, Therese follows the familiar path to the bathroom down the hall. The sound of splashing greets her as she walks through the doorway.

“Therese!” Rindy giggles excitedly.

“Bath time?” Therese asks with a smile, the smell of bath soap and bubbles filling the room.

“Carol just stepped away to grab her a clean towel.”

Therese is taken aback by the sudden sound of Abby's voice. Unsure what to do, she stands at the doorway with her hands held up, trying not to smear paint on any surface she might accidentally bump into. She knows Abby would be more than willing to help her if she'd just _ask_ , but she feels too self-conscious to even fathom it. She will never measure up to Abby – even with her eyesight, she knows there is something special there no one could even attempt to recreate – but she doesn't need any more of a reminder of her inadequacy by making a fool of herself.

Thankfully, Carol returns as expected. “Are you alright?” she asks, gently touching Therese's shoulder.

“I was just coming to wash my hands,” she explains with a shrug.

“I'll help you. Let's go to the other bathroom so there's more space.” Carol tosses the towel in her hand across the room in Abby's direction, where it lands in her lap with a ' _swoosh_ '. “Will you watch her for a minute?”

“Of course,” Abby replies.

With one of Carol's hand at her waist and the other at her arm, Therese leans back slightly onto her heels and allows herself to be easily guided. She immediately knows when they've entered Carol's bedroom, the smell of fresh linens and perfume quickly recognizable. The walls are eggshell white – like most of the apartment – but a few flashes of blue and yellow stand out as they move from one side of the room to the other.

The bathroom tile feels like ice on Therese's bare feet as they enter the connected master bath. As Carol twists the knob at the sink, Therese barely waits for the water to warm before running her hands beneath it to wash away the layers of paint across her hands, palms and arms. She tries her best on her own, but Carol senses the need and helps without a word, reaching forward and taking Therese's hands in hers beneath the flow of the water. The remaining bits of acrylic wash off with only a marginal amount of rubbing. As Carol's fingers work at her joints and knuckles, Therese realizes just how sore they are from hours of work.

“From the look of you, I'd say that painting went well tonight?” Carol teases. She switches off the water and places a hand towel in Therese's hands.

“Yes.” Even when her hands are dry, Therese wrings the towel back and forth, strangely nervous. “I can show it to you, if you'd like.”

“I think I'll wait a bit. I'm interested to see where you go with it.” Carefully, she takes the towel from Therese's hands, as if silently saying, ' _Relax_ '. “How are you feeling” Carol asks, changing the subject. “Have you used your drops yet?

“No,” Therese answers with a chuckle. Even in a private moment, Carol's mother-like instinct is always there.

“Wait here,” Carol instructs, carefully leading Therese to the side of her bed.

Although it isn't exactly the way she'd imagined being in Carol's bed, Therese still enjoys herself, running her freshly cleaned hands over the soft comforter beneath her. Carol's pillowcases are equally smooth, as if she'd expect anything less. Therese closes her eyes and imagines what it would be like just to lay beside Carol in the early morning, with the sunlight just barely creeping in through the windows, only a trace of a thin sheet between them. Even without her sense of sight, just the opportunity to feel the bare skin of Carol's back across her palms and against her lips, or the scent of her hair, of her perfume and shampoo and just that hint that is Carol and _only_ Carol.

“Two drops in each eye twice a day,” Carol reads as she re-enters the room. “Head back. It will make it easier to put them in.” She joins Therese at the side of the bed, standing in front of her with their knees touching.

When Carol's hand cups one side of her face, it takes all of the self control Therese has not to nuzzle into it. Instead, she swallows a lump in her throat and looks up, her eyes wide as she waits. Carol's thumb strokes along her jawline as a gentle warning. The tip of the bottle is cold against the corner of her eye, but the drops themselves burn as they trickle in. It isn't the worst pain she's felt, but it certainly isn't pleasant, and the sharp way her breath hitches is enough to signal her discomfort.

“I'm sorry,” Carol apologizes.

“Don't be.” Therese blinks, and the residual eye solution falls along the side of each cheek. “But if I say it hurts, will you...” She stops herself, but not the mischievous smile, dimples and all.

“Will I...?” Carol laughs softly. She shifts her hand to brush her thumb along Therese's lower lip.

Therese holds her breath and sits very still, as if moving will somehow cause the whole moment to crumble into itself. Or maybe she's simply fallen asleep, waiting for Carol to return. But when Carol leans in and kisses her, there's no mistaking the reality of it, of what Carol's lips can do to her. The chill in the air is gone, not even a second thought when Carol carefully strokes her hair and the back of her neck.

“Can I...” Therese whispers, “touch you? Not like _that_ , just...”

“Of course.”

Therese reaches out and caresses Carol's face, every curve and angle along her cheekbone and jaw. Eyelashes tickle her fingertips as she works her way upward. When Carol closes her eyes to allow Therese to explore her face more freely, for a brief moment, they're on even ground, relying on all senses but sight.

“What color are your eyes?” Therese asks as her thumb brushes over them. She can feel the muscles twitch as she waits for an answer.

“Blue.”

 _Blue_. So many possible shades, and yet Therese can picture it vividly.

“Carol, Rindy's read-” Abby stops short.

Embarrassed, Therese pulls away. Of course Abby had to interrupt this moment – this split second of privacy that doesn't involve children or doctors or artwork.

Just Carol.

“I'm so sorry. Rindy was just asking for you and I-”

“Go to her,” Therese interjects. She can sense Carol standing still beside her, hesitant. “Just go, please.”

“I'll be back,” Carol promises. “Stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments make the author smile and inspire more! :) Truly, your comments fuel the writing flame, so if you've enjoyed this little bit, stop and say hi!
> 
> Poor Abby keeps getting in the way, doesn't she? ;)
> 
> Edit May 13, 2018: if you’re here going “there was a chapter 14, but now it’s gone!” - the chapter had been posted, only for the Archive’s servers to totally go on the fritz minutes later. The chapter will be reposted once the servers seem to be in the all-clear! :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may look familiar to some. I posted an update last night minutes before the Archive's servers took a nosedive for almost a day. If you had the chance to read this before the Archive's meltdown, I would love it if you still took the time to comment with your thoughts :) And if this is your first time reading this chapter - then I hope you enjoy!

Time passes at an excruciatingly slow pace as Therese waits for Carol to return. She shifts on the edge of the mattress and cocks her head toward the door. Outside of the room, she can hear Rindy giggling excitedly at Carol's voice, deep and monstrous as she imitates the roar of a dinosaur.

“A dinosaur's favorite snack is...children who won't go to bed!”

Carol growls, and Rindy screeches excitedly, followed by an adorable belly laugh. It's the kind of banter heard between any mother and her child, but something about it makes Therese feel even _more_ attracted to her. It also makes her just a little less perturbed by Abby's consistent interruptions, another which is quickly added to the list as a voice says her name at the doorway.

“Therese, Carol is just putting Rindy to bed.” A beat of silence. “Look, I...I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for just now and that..” Abby pauses again. “Well, I'm happy for you. Excited.”

“Mmm.” Therese nods slowly, awkwardly, unsure what to say. “Thanks?”

“Ok, well...goodnight.”

Therese waves once, a small, curt gesture. “Yeah, you too.” A moment later, the apartment door opens and closes, and she guesses that they are finally alone – or at least, as alone as one can be with five-year-old.

Carol returns a few minutes later as promised. “I'm sorry. A certain someone decided she needed two stories and a visit from Momasaurus Rex before she would finally go to bed.”

Therese smiles genuinely. “She's adorable.”

“ _Sometimes._ ”

They laugh softly together until Carol cups Therese's face and the mood instantly shifts. The skin beneath Therese's eyes only shows the faintest trace of a bruise now, but the nerves are still tender, and while she expects a quick burst of pain as Carol's thumbs trace over the skin there, she's struck with a completely different sensation, one that starts there but works down every inch of her, from her neck to her chest, down her arms until the hair there stands. It's dizzying what Carol's light touch does to her. She reaches for Carol's shoulder – bare in some sort of sleeveless camisole – and steadies herself with a light squeeze.

“Does it still hurt?” Carol asks as she pulls her hand away.

But Therese stops her, wrapping her fingers gently around Carol's wrist. “Not with you.”

Fate, in all its cruelty, reminds her why she had stopped painting for the night as her stomach growls loudly. There's absolutely no way Carol missed it. Unable to control her embarrassment, Therese's cheeks turn bright red.

“Come on.” Carol takes both of Therese's hands and tugs her onto her feet. “I'll fix you something for dinner.”

Therese shakes her head. “Oh no no no.”

“Don't argue, dear,” Carol teases, hooking arms. After walking down the hall to the living room and kitchen area, Carol sits Therese on the edge of the sofa. “Can I get you a drink?”

With her current level of frustration, Therese craves more than _a_ drink. If her eyesight – or lack thereof – wasn't enough of a pain in the ass, her body had to betray her once more with an obnoxious growl during a rare moment alone with Carol. “Anything hard.”

“On it.”

Carol disappears for a minute, then returns with an ice-cold glass, which she carefully places in Therese's hands. “I didn't take you for someone who likes it neat, so I added a bit of Coke.”

Therese brings the glass up to her nose. The spiced smell of rum is distinct even with the carbonation and the sugar of the soda. She nods in appreciation, then drinks slowly, swishing the alcohol around her mouth before swallowing. “This is perfect,” she compliments. Feeling a bit more relaxed and less self-conscious, Therese leans into the back of the couch and sighs. She listens to the patter of Carol's bare feet on the tile as she moves back to the kitchen. Glassware clinks against the counter as she fixes a plate of whatever she's managed to find, and the apartment quickly fills with a delicious, savory scent as the plate warms in the microwave.

“Bon appétit!” Carol sets the dish down onto a nearby TV tray, then scoots it against the couch for Therese to eat from.

Therese drinks until there's only a sip or so left in her glass, then shifts her attention to the meal in front of her. No matter how much she wants to deny it, she's absolutely starving, and whatever it is Carol has heated up for her smells absolutely divine. Therese slides her hand along the side of the wooden tray until she meets the slightly sharp edge of a fork.

“Another drink?” Carol offers.

“Yes, that would be great.” Therese bows her head in front of her plate and inhales, trying to decipher what exactly is in front of her. True to form in all of her mystery, Carol hasn't told her, so she tries to rely on her nose before giving her tastebuds a chance. It smells of a roast – pork, perhaps beef? – as well as something salty and cheesy. Realizing she likely looks ridiculous with her face practically pressed into her food, Therese scoops up a mouthful and eats without hesitation. “This is wonderful,” she compliments as Carol returns with another rum and Coke, placing it on the edge of the tray so she can easily drink from it.

“Beef roast with carrots and au gratin potatoes,” Carol explains. “I'm not really much of a cook, to be honest, but Abby shared the recipe a long time ago and it's become a bit of a signature, so to speak.”

Abby. As if there would be any other source. The food in Therese's mouth suddenly tastes sour. She swallows hard, then reaches for her booze. She's not sure whether it's the fact that she's barely had a drink in weeks, or her injury, or just Carol's presence that makes her feel a bit more bold than normal, but Therese slips a question in a tone that comes off more rude than she's intended. “What exactly is the deal with Abby?”

Carol snorts. With her own glass of rum – Therese can smell it and hear the clink of ice cubes – she lounges next to Therese and takes a deep breath before explaining. “Abby and I have known each other since we were children. She's been by my side through almost everything. We grew apart for awhile when we were college-aged, but as luck would have it, we ended up rekindling our friendship and, well.” Carol takes a sip. “She's a good girl.”

“Forgive me if I'm being too forward, but have Abby and you always been...”

“Just friends?” Carol finishes. “Is it _that_ obvious?”

“I'm half blind and can tell.”

They both laugh.

Therese finally gets to the potatoes, which are beyond delicious. It might be a good change of conversation to compliment her again, but Carol's answer isn't exactly as detailed as she'd liked, so she continues to eat while she waits for a full explanation.

“There was a moment. A long time ago. She kissed me the summer before college, one night when a date had stood me up and I was a total mess. She was my best friend and I just felt needy and vulnerable and it felt...right.” Carol sighs. “I broke her heart at the end of the summer. When we finally came back together years later, we never spoke of it. We never really have, honestly. Things just picked up where they had left off before...well, _before_.”

“So you aren't in love with her?” Therese has found it difficult to continue eating the few crumbs that are left scattered on her plate, so she sets her utensils down and focuses on her drink instead.

“In _love_ with her?” Carol laughs. “No no no. I love her as my dearest friend in the world, but like that? No. And that's really where the problem was. I loved her like a sister, not a lover.”

“And who do you love like a lover?” Therese tries to be inconspicuous, but her intent is painfully obvious.

Carol laughs again, softer this time. “My, some serious questions tonight. What about you, Therese Belivet? What is your story?”

Therese hates talking about herself. She hides from every conversation that requires it. But something about Carol draws it out of her.

“I moved here from a small town. I grew up in a household where the arts were an unfathomable career choice. A doctor? A scientist? A lawyer? Those were suitable, but an artist?” Therese scoffs. “I didn't even know I was interested in it until I met Gen.” She draws circles in the sweat on the side of her glass as she speaks, a way to release some of the nervous energy in her fingertips. “She was beautiful. So beautiful. Smart. She didn't give a shit what anyone else thought of her. She knew what she wanted and she was determined to get it. It was impossible not to fall in love with her. When she told me she was going to New York for school, I threw away all of the plans I'd had since I was a kid and went off with her.” She brings her glass up to drink, but finds only ice this time.

“I'm guessing it didn't end well?” Carol rests a hand on Therese's thigh.

“That's...an understatement. She left me completely shattered. All the inspiration I had, that young burst of passion, was gone. I was alone in a city I barely knew. I had no friends but her. I was too depressed to do much of anything, let alone paint.” A sadness overwhelms Therese from the memory. Her lower lip starts to quiver and the tears quickly fall. Crying is never pleasant, but her injury makes it worse, and she finds herself in a cycle of crying from sadness and crying from the burning at the corner of her eyes. “I'm so sorry,” she apologizes to the woman sitting beside her. “I'm not usually such a babbling mess.”

“I blame the rum.” Carol leans in and tickles where Therese's neck and shoulder meet, and even with the tears, the dimpled smile appears.

“I gave up everything for her,” Therese sniffs. The breath hitches in her chest again and another wave of tears flow.

Carol stands for a moment, moving the dinner tray away from the couch, then returns to Therese's side, closer this time, so their sides and thighs touch. She wraps her arms around Therese and pulls her into a soft but secure embrace, which Therese doesn't fight – not even a little. She buries her face – cheeks wet from tears and hot from too much alcohol – into Carol's neck and inhales shakily.

Carol embraces her warmly, one hand securely around Therese's back while the other tangles into thin brown hair, soothing with long, slow strokes. “Therese, darling,” Carol coos, “you have not given up everything. You are talented. Sweet. Energetic. Passionate.” She stops to kiss Therese's temple. “Beautiful.”

When Carol had led her to the master bedroom, Therese had imagined something much different than how their evening has turned out. Carol holds her for awhile more, peppering kisses over her head and face until there's little trace of the tears that had been there before. Eventually, Carol stretches out fully on the couch, her head against the pillow at the armrest, and pulls Therese on top of her, with her small body tucked flush against her and a warm cheek pressed against her breastbone.

“You don't have to do this,” Therese says meekly, her eyes closed as she listens to the heartbeat at her ear.

“Shhh.”

“Really, I can just...” Therese yawns.

“Stubborn girl. Sleep.”

“I want to kiss you,” Therese mumbles, partly sleepy and partly drunk.

“I would like that.”

“In the morning?” Therese brushes her lips against Carol's sternum.

“Yes.” Carol rests her hand beneath Therese's shirt and strokes the bare skin there. “Now sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more! I did not have the opportunity to respond to everyone's comments on the last chapter due to the Archive's wonkiness last night, but rest assured, I plan to soon!
> 
> We've gotten some (much needed) backstory here. What do you think is going to happen next?


	15. Chapter 15

The smell of simmering berries wakes Therese the next morning. It's deliciously sweet with the tiniest hint of citrus, and she can picture it so vividly from the scent alone that she wonders if she's dreaming. Her leg dangles over the edge of where she's sprawled haphazardly, and it takes a moment for her to remember where _exactly_ she'd fallen asleep. The ache that runs up her shoulders and neck as she stretches immediately answers her question, and Therese swears she will stop making it a habit of falling asleep on the sofa – even if it _is_ alongside Carol.

Oh, Carol. Therese nuzzles her face into the throw pillow propped behind her, and the trace scent of Carol's hair and perfume bring back the memories of the night before – or, at least, those she hasn't repressed in her slightly drunk haze.

“Coffee?”

Carol is suddenly close without warning, and even though Therese had fallen asleep on top of her the night before, buzzed and vulnerable and a bit weepy, it doesn't lessen how self-conscious she feels first thing in the morning. Therese rubs her eyes and watches in slight awe as the world comes into focus in a way it hasn't for over a week. It's far from perfect – the details more hazy than not - but the bold color of Carol's cherry red robe beside her comes as quite a shock.

Like a jolt of lightning passing through her, Therese sits up on the couch and reaches out beside her, grasping for the smooth, silk material and drawing Carol's hip close to her face.

“Are you ok?” Carol asks, instinctively caressing the back of Therese's head as the girl's cheek presses against her clothed abdomen.

The clarity of color fades as Therese blinks some more, and the quick rush of excitement is once again replaced with disappointment. She realizes it's a good sign – that, even after only _one_ night, the drops have reduced the swelling and given her a taste of healing – but even if her sight had only lasted for a fleeting moment, the ache in her chest is no less painful.

Therese brushes a tear away from her cheek before Carol can say anything. “My head hurts,” she lies. “Just a little hungover, I guess.”

“I'm making some pancakes and blueberry compote for Rindy before she heads to school. If you're not feeling too nauseous, I can fix you a plate and get you some Advil?” Carol smooths the sleep-mussed hair at the top of Therese's head.

“Yeah that...” Therese swallows heavily, then clears her throat. “That would be great.”

**-X-X-X-X-**

Unsurprisingly, Therese withdraws into herself for most of the day. She's certain Carol senses there is something wrong with how little she's engaged, but if she's feeling as disheartened as she is over the fleeting moment of recovery, she can only imagine how Carol might react to the news of her seesawing sight. Therese decides that until her vision is consistently clear, she will not say a word to Carol about it.

At some point late in the morning, when Rindy has already left for preschool and they are alone once again, Carol knocks on the doorframe of the guest bedroom. “Hi,” she greets, and the softness and timidness of her voice is a bit alarming to Therese, who sets the jar of blue acrylic she's been working with down onto the floor beside her.

“Hi.” After a bit of awkward silence, Therese asks, “Everything ok?”

“Would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?”

Therese holds her breath and listens for the signals of Carol's closeness – the sound of her feet shuffling against the carpet or the swish of her slacks – but hears nothing. The digital clock hums behind them as Therese sits at her easel, frozen, silent. Her answer to Carol's question is painfully obvious – at least, she hopes it is – but the shock of simply being asked leaves her speechless.

“Or not.” Is Carol's voice trembling? Therese swears she hears a trace of it in just those two words. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume from last night-”

“Yes,” Therese blurts out. “Yes. I would love to go to dinner with you.”

Carol laughs softly – nervous yet relieved. “Great.”

The smile on Therese's face is large, beaming. Her cheeks burn pink with emotion and excitement, and once Carol has left – closing the bedroom door behind her to give Therese some privacy as she works (and reels over the thrill of _dinner_ ) – she looks up at the ceiling and lets the tears fall from the corner of her eyes, relieved to – _for once_ – be crying from happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update to bring us back into this fun little world :) Still, what's played out here is very important...
> 
> Comments make the author smile and inspire more!


	16. Chapter 16

Asking for help is not something that comes easily for Therese, so the prospect of needing it from someone she isn't exactly friends with is slightly terrifying. Sitting at the kitchen counter, Therese bounces her knee nervously on the side of the stool and taps her fingers against the granite, trying and failing miserably to steady her nerves.

“Are you ok?” Abby asks, setting down whatever utensils she's prepping food with.

It's become the norm to have Abby stay for awhile after dropping Rindy off from preschool, and while Carol handles the incredibly fun task of giving a bath to a certain five-year-old who has come home covered in finger paint, Abby takes the initiative to start whatever's been chosen for dinner. It makes Therese feel embarrassingly envious that she can't be the one to handle it. Eventually, she swallows her pride and answers Abby's question with her own. “Can I ask you a favor?”

The shuffle of cutting boards and plates quiets, and Abby stops what she's doing to focus on her. “Of course.”

“Carol's asked me to dinner.”

“So I've heard.”

“Oh? Did she say something to you?”

Abby chuckles softly. “She might have. She's very excited about it, actually.”

“She is?” Therese's voice cracks. Embarrassed, she clears her throat and asks again. “I mean...she is?”

“What is it you wanted to ask me?”

“Well, I was wondering...the only things I have to wear are either Carol's clothes or whatever she's grabbed for me from my apartment. Yoga pants and a t-shirt are hardly sexy, and I don't think it would be as fun if I asked Carol to help me get ready, so I thought...” Even though she can't really see Abby, she still looks away shyly.

“Oh Therese! I would love to help you get ready.”

There's brief footsteps, then Therese is pulled into a crushing hug, barely able to breathe by the time Abby lets her go. A little over a week ago, the thought of Abby even being in the same room as her used to make her skin crawl. While she'd hardly consider them best friends, Therese finds her jealousy fading, realizing that, even if there is a history there that can never be changed, and yes, maybe there are still unrequited feelings, Abby only wants what's best for Carol – and _her_ , by proxy. Therese relaxes into Abby's embrace and returns it with a friendly squeeze.

“When do you need me?”

**-X-X-X-X-**

When she'd asked Abby for help, Therese hadn't thought about the fact that she'd likely have to be nearly naked in the process. It certainly shouldn't matter – there's absolutely nothing between them – but she worries what Abby may think, comparing the two of them and realizing that there is no way she could measure up to what Carol needs or wants. Embarrassed, she sits at the corner of her bed with her arms crossed awkwardly over her body and waits for Abby to return from her closet.

“You have quite a collection here,” Abby compliments from across the room.

“Thanks,” Therese murmurs.

“There's a chance of snow tonight.” With a playful tone, she adds, “How romantic.”

Therese rolls her eyes. “Oh shut up.”

“How about this one?”

Therese twists in the direction of the closet, but her vision is still blurry enough that she can't get a good look at the dress from where Abby is standing. She waves Abby over, and when she feels the weight of the [dress draped in her lap](http://www.onesimplegown.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/green-black-women-velvet-dinner-dress-M1-3.jpg), she strokes the material slowly with her fingers and palms. The velvet is soft and warm, and with only two dresses of that make in her closet, it's easy to picture the options in her head. “Is this the green or black one?”

“Green.”

Therese smiles. “Good choice.”

“I try.”

“What exactly did you tell Carol?” Therese asks as she pulls the dress over her head and shimmies awkwardly into it.

“That we had to have a secret lovers' rendezvous in your apartment and that I'd make sure to have you back in time for your date.” Abby joins her at the bed and, with gentle fingers, helps straighten the neckline of the dress so it sits low enough to expose the thin diamonds on the silver chain at Therese's throat.

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

“Hush and let me do your makeup.”

Therese guesses Abby's found the travel bag at her sink filled with mascara, eyeliner, various shades of lipstick, concealer, and application brushes that are way overdue for a clean. She closes her eyes as the cold liquid foundation touches her skin. Abby's hands are surprisingly gentle, especially around her eyes as she draws a thin line with the charcoal color pencil and runs the mascara brush over her lashes to darken and lengthen them. “You have the cutest cheeks,” Abby compliments. “Don't even need blush. And those dimples. Carol won't be able to resist you.”

Before Therese responds – with something snarky or genuine (she hasn't yet decided which) – Abby spreads the lipstick slowly across her mouth, back and forth in thin, even layers. When Abby steps away, she smacks her lips together and smiles. Even though she can't really see herself, she feels pretty, dolled up in a way she hasn't been in ages. She only hopes it will be enough to impress Carol, who she knows will look absolutely stunning in ways she can only imagine.

With Abby's assistance, she slides on a pair of modest heels – the shortest she has, which should hopefully lessens the chance of her falling flat on her face. She's surprisingly steady on her feet as she walks around the apartment in search of her purse, which Abby hands her with a gentle squeeze of her forearm. “If she doesn't want to devour you, I will,” Abby teases, smacking her playfully on the ass.

It makes Therese feel a little uncomfortable, but she's not used to female friendships – or friendships at all, for that matter. And she's incredibly grateful for Abby's kindness. She pulls her purse up over her shoulder and smiles shyly. “Thank you, Abby.” She squeezes Abby's hand. “For everything.”

“Any time, lady.”

**-X-X-X-X-**

When they arrive back to the apartment, Therese is greeted not by Carol, but by Rindy, who rushes forward and grasps her legs with surprising strength. “Therese, you look so pretty!” she squeals.

“Thank you, honey. Where's your mom?”

Carol's voice – sultry yet silky smooth – gives Therese goosebumps. “I'm right here.” The click of heels on tile shifts to a shuffle against the carpet, then Carol is beside her with an arm around her waist. The sweetness of her daily perfume is replaced with something a bit spicer – an aphrodisiac of sorts that makes Therese want to cancel the dinner and jump right into bed. She leans into Carol's embrace and blushes.

“You look amazing,” Carol whispers quickly into her ear.

“Don't stay out too late!” Abby teases. “Now go or you're going to miss your reservation!”

“Where are we going?” Therese asks quietly as Carol takes her hand and leads her out the door.

“Have you ever heard of Dinner in the Dark?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more :)


	17. Chapter 17

“Reservations for Aird.”

As they stand at the front of _Notte_ , Therese hooks her arm with Carol's and shifts nervously on her heels. Although it's been quite some time since she's been a proper date, and she can equate most of her nerves to being a bit out of practice, it's still strange having to rely on Carol for every aspect of their date.

“Right this way.” As the maître d' ushers them to their table on the other side of the restaurant, Carol laces their fingers together and leads Therese carefully through the collection of empty tables where standard meals are offered. Tonight, however, is a “dinner in the dark”-only event, and as soon as they step into the room, Therese immediately notices the shift in lighting, which starts bright, then dims as they walk. There's a flash of fluorescent purple and blue lighting behind them that directs them to their seats (or at least, directs Carol, who takes expert care of her, delicately leading her to her seat and making sure she's comfortably settled before taking her own). “Have you ever dined with us before?” the host asks as they shrug off their coats and hang them on the back of each of their chairs.

“No, this is the first time for the both of us,” Carol answers, a hint of a smile in the tone of her voice.

“Well, welcome to the both of you. Let me explain the menu and the experience. Unlike most restaurants, you will not be choosing your meal. Our chef has come up with a wonderful assortment of tasters that will allow you to use your sense of touch, smell and taste to truly enjoy every aspect of your meal. We start with a light appetizer, followed by a protein, and finish it off with a sweet dessert. Conversation and collaboration is encouraged. Do you have any questions?”

“I don't think so,” Therese responds softly.

“We have a full bar and your standard wine offerings, as well as water, tea and soda. What can I start the both of you with?”

Carol orders first. “I'll take a Chardonnay.”

Therese doesn't consider herself much of a wine drinker, so she orders the first thing that comes to mind. “A Merlot sounds great to me.”

“Wonderful. A waitress will be right back with those drink orders.”

Once left alone, the worst part of any date begins: the awkward small talk. She feels comfortable with Carol, but they've barely talked about much more than artwork, and she's not exactly certain what might be off limits. Therese folds her hands together at the table and clears her throat. “How did you hear about this place?”

“Do you want the honest answer?” Carol responds with a laugh.

“Only if you want-”

“I've been trying to find the courage to ask you out to dinner for the last week,” Carol confesses. “I wouldn't let myself until I could find somewhere where you could be completely at ease. This,” she waves her hand around to reference the room, the jingle of her bracelet signaling it to Therese, “helps alleviate some of that tension. Although, truthfully, you look so absolutely stunning that I've been at a loss for words until now.” She laughs breathily. “I suppose the dark can't change _that_ at all, can it?”

The blush at Therese's cheeks is hot, tickling up to the back of her ears. Before she has the chance to respond – with something sweet or sassy, she hasn't decided which – their waitress arrives with their drink orders. Desperate for some liquid courage, Therese reaches for the wine glass and takes three long sips from it.

“We are still waiting on one more party before the dinner will begin,” their waitress explains. “Once they arrive, the lights will go out and I will be around with the appetizer course. Do either of you have any allergies the chef should be aware of this evening?”

Therese shakes her head.

“How are you feeling?” Carol asks once their waitress leaves, and while it doesn't exactly seem like a 'date' topic, Therese is grateful for her concern.

“Good days and bad days,” Therese answers honestly. “The drops seem to be helping. I find myself with clearer vision in the mornings, but my eyes are pretty fatigued by the end of the day. It's getting easier to decipher colors. I can't always see the details or patterns but I think, over time, it will get better.” She pauses for a sip of wine, tart on her tongue and warm in her throat. “At least, I hope so.”

“It will darling.” Carol reaches across the table and caresses her hand. “It will.”

“I'll tell you what though,” Therese continues, “it's absolutely amazing how the other senses have kicked in. Especially sound. Sometimes, in the morning, I just sit in bed and listen to all the sounds of the apartment. I always know when you're awake by the sound of your footsteps. The way you stretch slowly, the sound of your breathing.” It comes out before she has the chance to think about how _creepy_ it might come off, but Carol doesn't seem upset by it at all.

“Is that so?” Carol's voice is low and flirty. “What else do you do so early in the morning?”

The purple flicker at the corner of Therese's eye from the fluorescent lights disappears, and she guesses the room has been veiled in complete darkness by the sound of the other patrons' ' _oooh_ 's and ' _aaah_ 's. Their waitress quickly returns with two plates, which she places in front of each of them with a soft ' _clang_ ' against the wooden table.

Like most of her meals as of late, Therese runs her fingers over the top, taking in the texture of the appetizer. It flakes beneath her touch, and as she brings it to her lips, the scent of cabbage and soy and spiced pork makes her mouth water. The dough breaks apart with a crunch.

“What is it?” Carol asks, looking to her for some direction.

Therese chews faster and swallows. “Spring roll,” she answers when her mouth is no longer full. “It's delicious.”

The roll is small, a perfect example of what's to come, and after a few bites, they're both finished and eagerly awaiting the next course. Therese sips her wine to clear her palate before their waitress presents the newest item and takes their old plates away. “We highly encourage you touch before tasting this one.”

“Well that's a bit frightening,” Carol comments, hushed.

Therese giggles softly. She hovers her hand over where the plate is situated between them and bites her lower lip. “On the count of three?”

“You're a braver woman than I am. Ok. Let's do this. One.”

“Two.”

“ _Three._ ”

It only takes a brief touch for Therese to know that whatever they're about to eat, it's definitely raw. It's cold and slick beneath her fingers, and the terrified yelp that leaves Carol's lips at the feel of it makes Therese swoon.

“What the _hell_ is that?” Carol laughs.

“Not sure. Beef tartar? Or some sort of fish?” Therese moves her hand away and fumbles for wherever they've situated her utensils. “Do you have a fork?”

“Somewhere...” There's some shuffling and the sound of ' _ting_ ' of metal before Carol reaches for her hand and carefully, delicately places it in her hand. “Here.”

“Thanks.” With the fingertips of her free hand, Therese pushes some of the unknown entree onto the fork and brings it close to her face. She inhales slowly, relying on her sense of smell. It's salty and distinct. “I think I know what it is.”

“Oh?”

Therese nods, then realizes Carol can't really see her in the dark. “Yes. But let me taste to be sure.” With no fear, she brings the fork to her lips and swirls the mouthful over her tongue, allowing herself to decipher each texture and flavor. “Ahi tuna,” she informs, swallowing. “Very fresh Ahi tuna at that.”

“I didn't know you were a fan,” Carol comments before taking the fork from Therese's grasp to gather her own mouthful.

“Nothing beats a perfectly seared tuna with sticky rice.”

“Do you enjoy cooking?”

“I enjoy _eating_ ,” Therese answers with a laugh.

“Me too,” Carol agrees, and the tone of her voice is such that the double entendre is practically dripping off her tongue.

Therese finishes her wine with a gulp.

When the dessert course arrives, the sweet, luscious scent of milk chocolate fills the air between them. Therese reaches out and her fingers not only find an array of cakes and juicy fruits, but Carol's soft palm, face up and outstretched for her to take. She doesn't have the chance to try the sweets before Carol brings her hand to her lips and kisses it softly, her breath warm on the pulse at Therese's wrist. Her breath shakes as a high-heeled foot traces back and forth over her ankle beneath the table, and the fear of getting caught like this briefly flashes through Therese's mind before she realizes that in the dark, no one can see them.

“Let me feed you?” Carol offers.

Therese shivers. Like she could ever say no to that. She leans forward as best she can in her seat, closes her eyes, and parts her lips, waiting for chocolate to hit her tastebuds. It drips into her mouth as Carol leads the fork there, hot and sweet and delicious, and she's not just thinking about the food itself. It's absolutely divine, and as the cake swirls around her mouth, mixed with the sweet chocolate, Therese hums with satisfaction.

“Good?”

Therese feels practically out of breath by the time Carol takes the utensil away. “Uh huh,” she whimpers.

The tine of the fork drags over the plate once more as Carol enjoys her own bite. “Are you excited for the show?”

Therese blinks a few times, willing herself back to reality. “I'm sorry?”

“The gallery show. Are you excited?”

“Oh uh...” Therese coughs. “Yes, of course. This is such an amazing opportunity and I only hope that-”

“Would you like to see it?”

Therese cocks her head.

“The gallery. Would you like to go there? It will be empty so I can show you around.”

Carol's heel runs along her skin again, a slow drag that makes her body tremble. “Yes,” Therese answers breathily. “I would love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) 
> 
> Comments make the author smile and inspire more.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not safe for work. You've been warned :)

After Carol settles the dinner bill – Therese offers to pay, an offer which is promptly ignored – they leave the restaurant arm-in-arm and step outside into the winter air. A featherlight cold tickles her face and hands as they walk, and she's suddenly reminded of Abby's mention of snow. It would certainly be romantic in other circumstances, but she's instead forced to hold tightly onto Carol to avoid falling on her face with the slush and ice around them. It's not exactly the amorous stroll she'd envisioned, but Therese certainly won't pass up a chance to feel Carol's body pressed against hers.

Their drive to the gallery is a surprisingly short one. Carol delicately leads her to the back entrance and unlocks it with a set of keys from her coat pocket. Carol steps away for only a moment, tapping away on a nearby pin-pad to, Therese assumes (listening to the quick beeps beside her), disable the various alarms that inevitably protect the building and the art inside of it. It's difficult for her to decipher much of anything in the dark, but as soon as Carol flips a few switches, the gallery lights up spectacularly, and although Therese can't exactly see the details of it, she can gather a general sense of the space in all its glory.

“Want a closer look?” Carol offers, fingertips brushing along the inside of Therese's palm.

“Yes, please.”

Together, they step into the main gallery space. Their heels echo in the emptiness of the room, and as they move along the wall, Carol's breath is warm and steady at the back of her shoulder and base of her neck.

“Touch,” Carol instructs, taking Therese's hand to brush over a particularly large, bright canvas beside them.

“Are you sure the artist won't mind?” Therese asks, hesitant.

“I won't tell them if you won't.”

Smiling, Therese relaxes into Carol's hold and allows her to guide her fingertips along the paint. It isn't as textured as her own work, but she enjoys the alternating roughness and smoothness as she ghosts over the top of each set of strokes. If she squints, she can make out a hint of blue and red. The shapes are less easy to determine, but in all honesty, she's more captivated by Carol's hand at her wrist than the artwork at eye-level.

“What do you think?”

Therese bites her lower lip and wills herself to focus. “It's...beautiful.”

“ _You're_ beautiful,” Carol compliments, pressing a single kiss where Therese's neck and ear meet.

“I can't believe I'm going to have a piece here,” Therese confesses, her breathy shaky and uneven.

“Just wait until opening night. There will be hundreds of people here, dressed in gorgeous gowns and expensive jewelry and they won't even begin to compare to the way you are going to sparkle.” Carol brushes aside a few loose strands of hair at the side of Therese's neck before dragging her lips and teeth along the pulse point at the side of it. “You will be the center of attention,” she purrs. “They won't be able to keep their eyes off you. And why should they? You'll be as stunning as any piece of art in here.” After a moment, she corrects herself, adding, “You _are_ as stunning as any piece of art in here.”

“Carol.” It comes out as more of a whimper than Therese plans.

“Would you like to see my office?”

“Yes,” Therese practically chokes. Feeling slightly clumsy in her heels (paired with the two glasses of wine and the inevitable drunkenness that results from Carol's lips on her skin), she stumbles along as Carol tugs her down the hallway to her office. The door swings opens after a jingle of a keychain and a twist of a knob.

With Carol's hands at her waist, Therese steps back slowly until the back of her knees hit the side of a smooth, wooden desk. The pressure of Carol's fingertips at her hips is an intoxicating sensation, and as she's lifted onto the surface of the desk, Carol falling effortlessly into the space between her legs, Therese feels a euphoric sense of heat in her blood and dizziness in her head. “I take it we're done looking at the art,” she teases, rolling her head back at Carol's lips brush featherlight along the curve of her jawbone.

“I don't know about that. I think I have a particularly _fine_ piece of art right here.” Carol dips her head and drags her tongue along the center of Therese's throat, feeling the vibration of a hum as she does so. On instinct, Therese's hands find Carol's hair, tangling and pulling her closer. The pressure at her neck is unexpectedly pleasant, and when Carol moves away to kiss along her collarbone, Therese whines at the loss.

“What darling?” Carol straightens a bit, meeting Therese at eye level.

With a blush on her cheeks, Therese grasps for Carol's hand and brings it to her throat, tucking it gently along her jaw and pulse. Once settled there, Therese allows her own hands to wander, memorizing the shape of Carol's cheeks and jaw and neck. “You are so gorgeous,” Therese whispers, ghosting her lips against Carol's tentatively before finally pressing them together more firmly. Out of character, it's Carol who moans into her, and Therese is more than happy to swallow it, taste it with her tongue, hot and wet against Carol's.

“Spread your legs,” Carol growls, one hand at Therese's throat while the other dances up her calf and knee to her thighs, which part on Carol's request. The command alone makes Therese feel positively electric, a fire in her pulse. Her limited sense of sight is partly to blame, but she'd be a fool not to credit the stunning woman pressed against her, mouth against hers, whispering delicious obscenities across her lips. It's so incredibly different than the mothering version of Carol she's come to know, which is, perhaps, what makes it all the more erotic.

Faces close, their gazes lock, and Therese can see it – the crystal blue of Carol's eyes. They are bright and piercing and the color is so intense and striking that she actually shivers. Carol's fingers at the band of her panties, pulling them over her hips and down her bare legs, certainly don't help matters either. Therese practically buckles as Carol tugs her legs further apart before settling between them, wet and ready and aching.

“If only you should see yourself,” Carol purrs, only encouraging the little gasps falling from Therese's swollen lips. “You are absolutely stunning like this. I wonder if...” Carol thrusts two fingers deeper, curling forward at an agonizing pace. Therese, in turn, practically sobs with pleasure. Carol caresses her with surprising strength, helping her to stay upright at the corner of the desk. “Just as I thought,” she hums, “so beautiful.”

“ _Car-ol_.” It comes out breathy and broken, almost embarrassingly so. With her eyes shut tight, the swirls of red and orange behind her eyelids mirror the heat in her cheeks and blood, and it's a splendid burst of color that accompanies her orgasm minutes later as Carol adds a third finger and whispers one word into the shell of her ear.

“ _Come_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not safe for work.
> 
> :)

Unsurprisingly, Carol's fingers and low, commanding voice leave Therese utterly shaken. A single kiss just below her ear coaxes her from the trembling bliss she finds herself in, her body buzzing once again from the sensation of Carol's mouth against her skin. When Carol steps backward, the sound of her heel against the floor a seductive click that sends a shiver town Therese's spine, she whimpers at the loss, reaching instinctively forward.

“I'm here, darling,” Carol coos. The tap of her shoes shifts behind the desk, and Therese follows with her body, turning from one corner of the desk to the other. The shadows of movement bounce around her sightline, and when the room is quiet again, she focuses forward where Carol sits in the chair at her desk. She remains still, anticipating Carol's next move, until fingernails ghost up between her thighs to draw teasing circles. There's no lace there anymore, having long between discarded, and the movement of Carol's fingers radiates up and in-between her legs until she is practically writhing, her lower lip tugged firmly between her teeth to stifle the moan bubbling there.

For awhile, Carol simply teases, stroking up and down with the tips of her fingers and the light scrape of her nails. Then, suddenly, her hands dip further beneath the dark green material of Therese's dress to cup her ass, tugging her from the edge of the desk to straddle her lap. Therese, in turn, yelps at the sudden shift, wrapping her arms around Carol's neck to ground herself.

“I've got you,” Carol assures, combing her fingers through the brown hair pressed close to her face. The hand between Therese's thighs shifts slightly upward, stroking in teasing circles that light a fire once more, blistering heat rising up her neck and cheeks.

“I...” Therese's voice cracks, a helpless whimper stifled by Carol's shoulder. Carol, in turn, tugs lightly at her hair – not enough to hurt, just enough for a pleasant burn at the back of her scalp that brings them face to face once more. If she really focuses, she can see the shine of Carol's blue eyes once more, kind yet dark and commanding in the moment – completely in control. There are words at the tip of the both of their tongues, but all is lost when Carol shifts slightly in the chair, spreading Therese's legs just enough to curl two fingers into her. She steadies Therese with a hand at the back of her neck, keeping their faces tucked close as they rock slowly together.

Therese considers herself a rather polite, quiet person. Yet there is something about Carol, in the heat of this moment, that brings out something unexpectedly wild about her. Perhaps it's her lack of sight, which makes her feel a bit more free, uncaring about the way anything _looks_ but intently focused on every single feeling, particularly when Carol rocks a bit faster, roughly, impossibly deep in a way that brings such intense pleasure that Therese feels she may faint. She moans – low, deep, so unlike her – which, of course, only encourages Carol more, arching her palm upward.

Carol's other hand leaves its place in Therese's hair to brush over the length of her arm – featherlight, goosebumps forming beneath her touch – until she settles over the hand resting at her own shoulder. Without faltering for even a second, she guides Therese's hand to her cheek, silently encouraging her to touch. Therese strokes along Carol's jawline before swiping her finger along her lower lip, the slightest bit swollen from their earlier kiss. Carol opens her mouth and takes the finger between her teeth, then slides her tongue slowly over the pad of it, sucking.

The sensation is maddening. She's relied so heavily on touch over the last few weeks, and Carol's hot tongue sliding over the length of her finger, paired with the way she quickens her pace between her legs, is almost more than she can handle. The whimper that leaves her lips is high and broken and aching, and Carol hums in response, the vibration felt against Therese's fingertips as they drag over the sharpness of Carol's teeth to settle back against the throbbing pulse at her neck.

“You are miraculous to watch,” Carol whispers.

“ _Oh_ ,” is all Therese can muster as Carol hikes her dress up higher, holding it to one side just above her hip. The air is cold against her bare, wet skin, complimenting the heat in every other part of her. Carol's planned this, knows exactly what will bring her over the edge again, and if she could see her, Therese is certain Carol's smiling at her, with blood red lips and crisp white teeth that are turned up in a Cheshire Cat grin, proud of herself as she guides her up toward the mounting crescendo.

“I want to take you home and ravish you,” Carol purrs. “Undress and kiss every inch of you. Spread your legs and settle myself between them. How lovely you would look. Would you let me?”

“Yes,” Therese cries, partly an answer, mostly words of affirmation as Carol presses into her hips more roughly, grinding her down at an impossible pace that has her seeing stars as she presses her eyes shut tightly. She digs her nails into the Carol's shoulder and Carol, in turn, loses herself for a moment in her own whimper that is not pained, but a jolt of unexpected pleasure.

“We could go back to my place,” Therese pants, soon realizing that trying to form a full sentence with Carol's fingers buried knuckle deep is easier said than done. “It's only next door but there's,” her voice breaks, and it takes a moment before she can speak clearly again, “some privacy. A couch. A bed.”

“Hmmm. That sounds...” Carol slows her pace, teasing in a way that actually makes Therese growl, practically _begging_ her to keep going without saying anything. “Perfect.” With that, she slips her fingers from between Therese's legs and places a lazy kiss at the corner of her mouth. Carefully, delicately, she leads them both to stand, Therese on shaky, dazed legs. Therese uses the desk behind her to steady herself, her chest heaving and her body shaking from the orgasm buzzing just below the surface, right there, so close yet so achingly far.

Carol fixes her up, smoothing the wrinkles at the bottom of her dress and straightening the neckline that has shifted a bit in their necking. She swipes her thumb to remove a smudge of dark red lipstick at the corner of her lip, then runs her fingers ever-so-slowly through Therese's hair to smooth it. “Come now, darling. Let's go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, ok. I know I owe ya'll a chapter of Canvas. It's coming. (Heh). But the summer sex-a-thon in the Carol fandom is in full force and I could not help but contribute a bit more. I hope you all are enjoying this ;)
> 
> Comments make the author smile and inspire more.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not safe for work :)

As they leave the gallery hand-in-hand, stepping into the freezing early-winter air, Therese gasps. The snow has picked up considerably, tickling across her face and arms, and with the way her skin burns from Carol's touch, the unexpected burst of cold nearly takes her breath away. Thankfully, Carol is by her side, guiding her through the slick parking lot and to the passenger's side of her car – but not before she presses her gently against it and kisses her slowly, the warmth of it practically melting whatever flakes may have settled against her mouth and cheeks.

“You look positively snowkissed,” Carol whispers against her lips.

Even so, Therese feels feverish.

While their drive to the restaurant had felt relatively short, the drive back to their apartment complex seems quite the opposite. The weather has made the roads more difficult to navigate, and while they'd made every light before, it seems as if the universe is against them, every stoplight shifting from yellow to red as they approach an intersection. Beside her, Therese actually hears Carol growl, frustrated, deep in her throat.

Using the time stopped to her advantage, Therese snakes her hand over to the driver's seat, reaching under the guise of trying to hold Carol's hand. However, she dips her fingers a bit lower, brushing against the smooth material of Carol's dress. She slides it up just enough to slip her hand between her thighs, and feels quite proud of herself at the little gasp that falls from Carol's lips. Some sane part of her realizes that it could be incredibly dangerous, especially with the far-from-perfect weather, but Therese enjoys her unusual burst of confidence, dragging her fingernails back and forth across Carol's inner thigh as she begins to drive again.

Therese loves this game, wonders how long it would take to drive Carol positively mad, only to pull away at the last minute. After a few torturous caresses, she dares to dance her fingers up further, feeling the lace and silk resting at Carol's hips. She imagines Carol's look of determination, trying to hide how flustered she is, but failing miserably, cheeks a bit red and her chest heaving, breath uneven.

“You are an  _awful_  tease,” Carol hums, shifting in her seat.

Therese takes it as a compliment.

The car comes to a stop once again, but this time, the engine cuts with it. The white noise of the transmission quiets, and even the wind outside seems to disappear, leaving them to the silence of the car, the only sound their soft, slow breathing as they each wait for the other to say something, to make a move.

“Upstairs?” Therese suggests with a purposefully placed swipe of her fingertips, still settled beneath the hem of Carol's dress.

“ _Yes._ ”

The anticipation swirls in Therese's stomach and chest as they climb the staircase together, Carol's arm at her waist and hand over hers at the banister, silently guiding her. When they stop at the second floor instead of the third, she realizes where they're going next, and her nervousness begin to flood back. Although it's the  _same_  apartment in the _same_  apartment building, Therese imagines Carol as so much more lavish than her, with sophisticated art and furniture and various other décor. She hardly considers herself a slob, but she's not the pristinely neat person she senses Carol is based on her time at her home, and Therese suddenly feels a bit self-conscious at the idea of Carol not just visiting her apartment, but staying the night in her room, in _her_  bed. Sure, Carol's been there before to get some of her things, but this...this is different territory. “My keys are in here somewhere,” Therese notes quietly, handing the clutch over.

Metal chimes, the lock clicks, and then they are alone inside. It's subtle, but the scent of lemon Clorox wipes and Febreeze is fresh in the air, and Therese is only confused for a second until she realizes:  _Abby_.

They've barely been inside for more than a minute when Carol speaks. “Therese?”

“Yes?”

“Take me to bed.” Carol's voice is pleading, needy. It's a bit out of character with how commanding she's been, merciless at the corner of her desk, but that somehow only makes Therese want her more. They walk down the hall to the bedroom, the furthest door on the left. As they step inside, Therese leads Carol to sit at one side of the mattress, legs dangling over with her palms splayed on either side of her.

While the gallery had been somewhat fast and frantic – deliciously so, the slight ache between her legs reminding her of that fact – Therese decides to take her time now, dipping her head to kiss slowly and delicately along Carol's neck as she rolls her head back. There's a kiss at her pulse, then where her shoulder and neck meet. Running her hands along Carol's body, she finds the zipper of Carol's dress and carefully pulls it down, the material at her shoulders suddenly slack, easy for her to tug down until it falls over Carol's chest to rest at her hips. Desperate to ravish her, Therese once again presses her lips against Carol's shoulder, then opens her mouth slightly to drag her lips and tongue along the length of her bare arm to finally settle at another pulse point at Carol's wrist. There, she worships, sucking and kissing at the particularly sensitive spot that leaves Carol absolutely breathless.

She'd expected this to be difficult without her sense of sight, but Therese actually prefers it this way. The feel of Carol's soft skin beneath her hands and lips, and the sounds of her whimpers and moans – quiet, but growing louder with each kiss – are incredibly erotic, and Therese finds herself unashamedly perched against Carol's thigh as she worships her, rocking just enough for a satisfying moment of friction, her own panties having been long removed and an afterthought when they'd scurried away after dinner.

They move together for awhile, slowly, sensually, with Carol's fingers and wrist at her mouth, the tension building. “I want to taste you,” Therese whispers boldly across her skin.

Carol whimpers, then shifts to spread her legs, forcing Therese to remove herself from them. In a surprisingly swift movement, the unzipped cocktail dress slips over Carol's waist and down her hips to the floor.

“Are you wet?” Therese asks, sinking to her knees.

There's a breath of a moan in the air, then Carol tangles her fingers in Therese's already-mussed hair. Starting at her ankle, Therese ghosts along the line of bare skin, muscles flexing beneath her touch. Her mouth joins soon thereafter, kisses following the same line of teasing as she settles between Carol's thighs. Therese glances up instinctively, and  _god_ , how she would kill to see Carol's face, flushed and begging.

The thin material at her hips falls easily as Therese hooks her fingers around it. Urged on by the fingernails pressing _just_  hard enough into her scalp, she scoots forward and licks slowly. Yes, as she quickly learns, Carol is  _absolutely_  wet for her, and it only takes a few flicks of her tongue before hips rock against her, pleading silently, to which Therese happily obliges. Two fingers join her mouth, curling with purpose and precision.

Therese longs for the day when she can see Carol come undone. Until then, Therese savors every sound and sensation, the filthy words and trembling thighs and the taste of her, wet and open and taking everything she gives.

**-X-X-X-X-**

Bodies hopelessly tangled together, Therese wakes in the middle of the night, momentarily confused and groggy. Her own bed seems strangely unfamiliar to her, having grown quite fond of the sheets and pillows and the fresh scent of the guest bedroom in Carol's apartment, and it takes a few seconds for her to remember exactly where she is. Desperately thirsty for a glass of water, Therese tries to slip away from Carol's tight embrace without waking her. She looks beside her and simply admires for awhile. Carol sleeps peacefully in her bed, golden hair splayed across the pillow and lips still slightly swollen from their kisses an hour or so ago. The longness of her neck and the curve of her bare back are absolutely exquisite, and Therese tries to resist the urge to kiss along it.

And then it dawns on her. Together in bed, Therese finally sees Carol for the first time.


	21. Chapter 21

Throughout her life, Therese has seen many beautiful things – marvelous works of art that take her breath away. Yet, next to Carol, lounging like an absolute goddess, Therese is brought to tears by the sight of her. She runs the tips of her fingers along Carol's spine and the curve of her hips, grinning as the goosebumps form beneath her hands. She stirs just a little at the touch, and when her eyes flutter open, Therese holds her breath, finally able to see the crisp blue that's only been brief glimpses so far, only visible in her dreams. And yet, when they finally appear, bold and sparkling, the color is even more beautiful than she'd ever imagined. The breath hitches in her throat as Carol smiles lazily at her.

“Good morning.” Carol's voice is airy. “How did you sleep?”

“Great, honestly.” They make eye contact, and the intimacy of it makes the hair stand on the back of Therese's neck. She wonders how many times Carol has looked at her this way, so loving and tender but knowing that she can't see her in return. The confession buzzes on her lips. But before Therese has the chance to say something, Carol scoots forward and kisses her lightly.

“Are you hungry?” Carol twists her finger around a strand of hair hanging in front of Therese's face, and it takes everything in her power not to focus on the subtle curl of Carol's wrist as she does. There's every opportunity to tell her the good news, and yet something holds Therese back.

“Do you want the appropriate answer or the _inappropriate_ answer?” Therese asks with a lopsided, dimpled smile.

“Oh, inappropriate would be so much more fun, I think.”

Therese responds with her hands, palming and caressing. She's careful to explore slowly and purposefully with her lips and fingers and, most importantly, her eyes, committing every inch of Carol to memory, yet it only makes her desperate for more, from the curve of Carol's breast to her toned stomach until she finds herself between Carol's legs again. Unhurried, she teases slowly, savoring every breath and whimper from above her until she simply can't help but glance up, and _holy shit_ , does Carol look absolutely stunning, cheeks pink and back arching with every swipe of her tongue; perhaps it's the lack of inhibitions, not having to worry about how she looks in pure ecstasy under the gaze of a lover. Whatever the reason, Therese feels a strange mix of emotions from it – proud and accomplished, and yet, at the same time, overwhelmingly guilty.

**-X-X-X-X-**

If Therese had her way, they'd never leave her bed. Sure, the mattresses at Carol's are larger, more posh, more comfortable, but there's something special about this room and this bed now. Curled up against Carol, she strokes up and down her forearm with her fingernail, dozing in and out of consciousness to the lulling sound of Carol's steady breathing. Eventually, with a tickle at the back of her neck, she's encouraged to get dressed and out of bed, mostly to relieve Abby of her babysitting duties. (Admittedly, it had been the last thing on Therese's mind until now.)

“Do you mind if I grab something to wear?” Carol asks, finally removing herself from the bed to the nearby dresser.

“Be my guest.”

“Would you like me to get you something too?”

Therese is about to shake her head no when she realizes that, in order to keep up the facade, she'll have to rely on Carol more than she really needs to. “Sure. I think there are some t-shirts and sweatpants in the middle drawer.”

Just as she'd said, Carol hands her a bright red t-shirt with some sort of restaurant logo and a pair of loose black sweatpants to match. Carol herself chooses a plain white tee and some grey shorts, and in that moment Therese realizes just how much of a height difference there is between them. The tiny little bottoms barely cover Carol's ass, let alone her legs, and Therese can't help but stare as she shimmies around in them, oblivious to the fact that she's being oogled a few feet away.

“I was thinking of making breakfast for everyone when we get back to my apartment. How does that sound?”

Therese pries her eyes away from Carol's long legs. “Huh?”

“Pancakes? Food?”

“Oh, y-yes,” Therese stutters. “I could never say no to that.”

**-X-X-X-X-**

They return to 34B to find Abby on the couch and Rindy sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, a few inches away from the front of the television that plays a series of obnoxious children's cartoons.

“I wish you wouldn't let her do that,” Carol mutters, leaning down to greet her daughter with a kiss on the top of her head before gently tugging at the back of her rainbow-and-unicorn pajamas to pull her a few feet back.

“Well, nice of you to join us,” Abby teases, eyeing Carol up and down before looking over at Therese in her own makeshift lounge clothes. “Good night?”

Carol shoots her “ _that face_ ”, and Therese has to swallow the sassy remark on the tip of her tongue. “I was thinking about making some breakfast. Pancakes?”

“Pancakes!!!!” Rindy exclaims, jumping up from the floor to rush to her mother. “Paaaancakes. Paaaaancakes.”

“Can you be a good girl and help Aunt Abby set the table? It won't take me long to cook.”

“Can I help with something?” Therese offers, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. But she knows the answer before Carol even says it, because while everyone thinks she's completely hopeless without her sight, they're never going to entrust her with tasks where she could end up hurting herself, and if there's one place she can easily hurt herself – even _with_ her sight – it's the kitchen.

“I've got it. I'd imagine you've worked up quite an appetite.”

“And you haven't?” Therese quips.

Carol simply smiles.

**-X-X-X-X-**

The pancakes come in two batches, starting with Rindy and Abby, who are already seated eagerly at the table by the time Carol carries over a blue plate filled with a large stack of pancakes, as well as a bottle of thick syrup. Carol sets two to start on Rindy's plate, and Therese has to force herself to sit still in her chair, desperate to lean in and help the young girl cut her food. It's Abby, instead, who swoops in and assists from her spot beside Rindy.

As the five-year-old stabs at the little rectangles and eventually guides them into her mouth, Therese watches with a soft expression, finally able to get a good look at her. She's the spitting image of Carol, with sparkling eyes and a wide smile, except for the dark mop of messy brown hair at the top of her head. It makes Therese wonder whether Carol is a natural blonde, or if that part came from Rindy's not-talked-about father.

Leaning forward in her seat, Therese reaches forward to swipe her thumb along the corner of Rindy's mouth where a little glob of syrup begins to drip. “You have a little-”

It's too late. By the time she realizes what she's done, Abby's already looking over with an expression of confusion and, most importantly, _suspicion_. Therese quickly pulls her hand away like she's been burned and slumps deep into her seat. Just as Abby takes a sharp breath, clearly ready to say something, Carol returns to the dining room table with another plate of pancakes for herself and Therese.

“Everything tasting good?”

“It's delicious!” Rindy compliments, except it comes out as “ _ez dewishish_ ” through the mouthful she's currently working on.

Carol fixes Therese a plate, cutting the food into squares in a similar fashion as Abby had for Rindy. It's a bit embarrassing, but she doesn't fight it, not wanting to call any more attention to herself than she already has. Throughout their breakfast, Abby stares at her with narrowed eyes, the clock ticking behind them as the room falls into silence except for the sound of their soft chewing, the second hand saying: “ _Any time now, Therese. We're waiting, Therese._ ”

“So, what would we like to do today?” Carol asks, somewhat oblivious to the stand off happening on either side of the table.

“Can we go outside and build a snowman? Or watch the snow?” Rindy suggests.

“Honey, you know Therese can't-”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Therese interrupts, setting her fork down onto her plate as she finishes the last of her first pancake.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Therese,” Abby says flatly, “are you sure? Might be kinda hard to enjoy it if you can't see.”

“ _Abigail_ ,” Carol hisses, her brow furrowing angrily.

“I'll enjoy it regardless,” Therese interjects quickly, desperate to end any fight before it begins.

“I just remembered that I have some errands to run,” Abby lies. “I'll, uh...see you both later, ok?”

“What is _up_ with you?” Carol's voice is low, hushed, and while Rindy is oblivious to the entire thing, Therese certainly isn't.

“I gotta go. Call you later, ok?”

Carol nods slowly, confused. When Abby leaves and the door closes with a bit of a slam behind her, Carol turns back to Therese and takes her hand, squeezing it assuringly. “I'm sorry for that. Not sure what kinda bug is up her a-” She stops, looking over at Rindy. “Butt. Not sure what's up her butt today.”

Therese sighs softly. “Please don't apologize.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been an absolutely hellish week. Comments would make the author super smile (and of course, always inspire more).


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends. A bit of a personal author's note coming below. Feel free to completely ignore it and scroll right down to the beginning of this chapter, which I hope you enjoy!
> 
> The last chapter of this story elicited some passionate responses, which have been very fun to read and discuss with everyone. Differing opinions are a natural part of any piece of writing, and I have - and will always - encourage people to voice their thoughts and opinions on anything and everything I write. Throw that constructive criticism my way, or pose a question to start a conversation. This fandom is filled with amazingly smart people with varying interpretations to not just this story, but the source material as well (as well as the other wonderful pieces that have been written here!).
> 
> Yesterday, I received a comment unrelated to the nature of the story itself that came off as an attack against me as a person. I was accused of not caring for or supporting this community because I don't always read, comment or kudo on particular pieces of work within the fandom. This deeply hurt and troubled me, as I feel I have always tried to engage with the many wonderful authors and commenters within this fandom. I always try to answer the comments I receive, and start dialogues within stories others write. I may not read every story that comes along here, but rest assured I am supportive of everyone here who has had the courage to write and compose and share a piece of themselves in the process. You all are amazing. 
> 
> Writing is not my career. It is something I enjoy doing, but in the real world, I am just a wannabe off-duty writer in her spare time who enjoys putting stories together within some of her favorite universes in the hopes that others will (hopefully) appreciate them as they come to life. I write when I can, when life allows me to, and look forward to sharing the next piece or chapter of this and the other stories I write.
> 
> That being said, I am a human being with real feelings. I am profoundly hurt by what happened yesterday and the words that were said to me seemingly out of the blue. I am trying to stand tall and not let it affect me, but I am in a bit of a vulnerable place that may take me away from the fandom for awhile. It saddens me, as both this and Canvas are inching toward their inevitable conclusions and I have been very excited to travel down this road. I marveled the other day at just how many words I have collectively written between the two, which could be a book all by themselves! And it's all because of the encouragement of this fandom and the great friends I have made from it.
> 
> If you have ever read anything I've written - or anything anyone else has written within this fandom - please know that you are valid part of the fandom and community, whether you have commented or kudoed or reached out privately to the author. I am honored to have the readers that I do, and I am honored to be part of a group of individuals who are so passionate. 
> 
> Please remember that behind the wall of fandom, there are real people with real feelings, and words matter. 
> 
> If you're still with me here - thank you. I will ramble no more. I hope you enjoy this short update, and whenever the next may come, I hope you will still be here with me too.

Unsure what else to say, Therese remains quiet throughout the rest of their breakfast together, opting to watch Carol and Rindy playfully engage as mother and daughter. From across the table, she likely comes off as quiet and contemplative, but the reality is that she's scared to death, physically fighting off the tremble that slowly creeps throughout her body. Having not known Abby long enough to guess her next move, Therese wrings her hands nervously beneath the table as she thinks of all the scenarios Abby has likely come up with from their brief exchange, and, even worse, what she might reveal to Carol as a result of them.

She thinks back on the silent rule she'd made, on the promise not to relay any news of better health until she's certain of its authenticity and, more importantly, whether it's a lasting change or a fleeting moment. It's an incredibly selfish move, especially after everything Carol has done for her, and yet the thought of losing Carol, or even worse, breaking her heart with the news of her sight diminishing yet again is something she simply cannot bear. Suddenly feeling her appetite fade, Therese politely places her utensils and napkin on the table and excuses herself with a gentle smile and nod of her head. 

She navigates to her room alone, and Therese is thankful for Rindy's neediness, which demands Carol's attention and allows her to slip away without tipping Carol off. Once the door is closed behind her, she presses her back against it and lets out a shuddering breath, clearing her lungs and body of the tension she's been holding for what feels like an eternity, even if it's only been a matter of minutes. She realizes, though, that maybe it is more than just a moment of conflict at a breakfast table, her fears uprooted painfully in a very unexpected way. 

Out of the corner of her eye, amongst the chaos, Therese finally notices the nearby easel and canvas. It's a strange concept to work on a piece of art for weeks and never even  _see_  it, and she almost feels as if she's betraying herself by looking at it. Tiptoeing across the carpet, she sits down on the stool and settles in front of the painting, truly admiring it for the first time. It is nothing like the portraits and scenic compositions she's worked on before, and yet she is truly marveled at what she has managed to put together. The unfinished canvas is covered in an abstract blend of colors and textures, and even though she has her sight, Therese can't resist the urge to touch, evoking the emotions and intent she'd transferred through the acrylics. It unashamedly brings tears to her eyes, and she can only hope it does the same to its eventual audience - that is, once she finishes the damned thing. 

With her sight back - even temporarily - Therese imagines it will be easier to work, but as she sits in front of the canvas, a jar of red acrylic in her hands, she finds herself almost paralyzed in front of it. The inspiration that had come so freely before seems to have vanished. Therese dances her fingers along the strokes of color, hoping to feel that spark once more. 

A knock at the door startles her. It opens slowly, and Carol's head peeks around the edge of it. "I'm going to jump in the shower. Do you need anything from me?" 

"No I...I'm good." Therese forces a smile.

As soon as she hears the sound of running water, Therese creeps out of her room. Momentarily ignoring her sudden lack of inspiration, she must fix this conflict with Abby before all hell breaks loose. She's not certain where Abby lives, but she guesses it isn't far with the way she's constantly over. A quick phone call - or even better, a face-to-face conversation - would give her just enough time to explain herself. 

Rindy's nowhere to be found as Therese enters the living rom, likely elsewhere playing with her dolls or Legos. Carol's name-brand purse hangs from its place near the doorway (as well as her own - had Carol put it there when they'd returned?), and as quickly as she can, Therese finds Carol's phone and copies down Abby's number into her own, which she grabs from the outside pocket of her handbag. With her luck, Abby won't even answer - why would she, with it coming from an unknown number - but Therese decides to try anyway, running back to hide in her bedroom as she makes the call. 

It rings once. Then twice.

"This is Abby."

"Abby," Therese breathes.

"Oh," is all Abby responds with. There's an awkward silence before Therese cuts in with her apology and explanation.

"I want you to know that none of this has been an act. For the last few days, I've had brief moments of sight that go away about as quickly as they come. This morning, for the first time, it's actually stayed for hours. I actually got to  _see_  her, Abby." Therese's voice shakes. "I don't know what it means or if it will be like this tomorrow, or if I'll even be able to see still by lunchtime, but this is new and unexpected and I'm just..." Therese breaks. "I'm excited and overwhelmed and  _scared_." Although she can hear Abby breathing on the other end of the line, she doesn't say anything in response, which only terrifies Therese more. Somehow, she musters up the courage to ask, "Do you believe me, Abby? I would never do anything to hurt Carol."

"I...believe you." Abby's voice is low but calm. "You can't blame me for being a little upset, though. I think you'd have done the same thing if you were in my shoes."

"Absolutely."

"But," she continues, "if you keep this from Carol for too long, it will hurt her more than I can ever warn you. She is here for you and wants to be in your life, regardless of whether you can see or not. She wants to care for you. She doesn't want you in pain, but she also wants to be there for you when you are feeling vulnerable."

"I'm terrified of being alone again, Abby. What if she-"

"Your injury is not what binds you," Abby interrupts. "It has brought you together but that is not the foundation of your relationship. And if for some reason your sight fades away again, it will still not be the reason Carol is there with you." She sighs. "You two are so annoying with your  _emotions_."

_That_  makes Therese laugh.

"I don't want to be the reason she's brokenhearted," Therese confides. "Can you imagine how excited she will be to hear I can see? And if it goes away again, you can't convince me she won't be devastated."

"It's....complicated." Abby sighs again. "I've known Carol for a long time. She's been through some awful shit, and some really terrible heartbreak. But she is one of the strongest women I know. Honestly, she's probably the  _strongest_ woman I know. And she would be strong for you and stick by your side no matter what. She will lift you up. Encourage you in all the ways you need. Because that's who Carol is. It's at her core."

"I know." And it's true. Therese realizes she's known this all along, but at times, it takes the words of someone else to finally understand, to let the knowledge truly sink in. "I want to tell her, but on my own time. I need a day or two to process. Do you think that is selfish?"

"Incredibly," Abby teases. "But ultimately, you have to do what is best for you. I'm a loud mouth, but somehow I'll rein it in for you. Don't make me regret that."

"I won't." And no matter what, Therese intends to stay true to that promise.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

That night, in bed together, Therese strokes Carol's hair and along her arm as she sleeps, lulling her with the gentle movement of her fingertips. She drinks up as much of Carol as she can, because if  _this_  is the last sight she'll ever come to know, it is one she wants to replay over and over in vivid detail. Pressing her body close, she buries her face against the back of Carol's neck and shoulder and breathes her in. When it had been left to her imagination, everything about Carol had been so intoxicating and alluring. With her sight back, she'd only confirmed these assumptions. From the perfume at her pulse to the sparkle of her eyes, to the soft curves of her body and the kind, gentleness of her hands, everything about Carol makes her dizzy and drunk. 

"Please stay with me like this," Therese whispers. Carol's fast asleep, head buried in the pillows and sheet wrapped loosely around her body (and Therese's by proxy) - but her unconsciousness makes it easier, a dress rehearsal for the inevitable moment to come. "I love you."


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a minute, hasn't it, friends? :)

It's snowing when Therese wakes the next morning. Just a light dusting, but enough to remind her that winter has officially arrived in all its chilly glory. Despite it, the ray of sun that peeks through the window warms her bare feet at the end of the bed, and with Carol radiating warmth beside her, she'd be perfectly content laying like this all day, tangled in the sheets, admiring the frost on the glass and the goosebumps along Carol's arm as she lazily strokes there.

And after 24 hours, it's all still there, clear as day, the colors and the textures and the beautiful sight of Carol sleeping peacefully next to her.

Careful not to wake her, Therese slips out of bed and down the hall. As she passes Rindy's bedroom, she peeks inside, just for a minute to admire the sweet, snoring girl in her unicorn pajamas whose little arm and leg hang lazily over the side of her bed, the other arm clutching a small Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal close to her chest.

The living room feels much colder than the rest of the house when Therese steps through it. Grabbing a blanket from the back of the loveseat, she wraps it around her shoulders like a cape before shuffling over to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. She opts for a single-serve brew instead of a whole pot, knowing it would immediately tip Carol off about her sight. With the mug in hand, she curls up on the couch and watches the snow, which swirls back and forth with the direction of the wind. Steam wisps up from her hot coffee to warm her cheeks, and Therese closes her eyes to bask in the comfort of it.

Everything will change with a confession; she'd be a fool to believe anything otherwise. They will fall into their normal routines again, and the obligation of Carol's caregiving will no longer be there. Therese's body aches with the thought of it. It would be no reflection of Carol, but rather the continuation of a pattern that's carried through her entire life. Her parents, her friends, her exes – they'd all eventually grown tired of her, treated her like a burden until she'd slipped away from the scene, moving on to the next group, the next town, until the inevitable moment she when she packs up again.

Therese looks around the room, admiring each detail as though it's the last time she will see it. Carol's interior decorating is exquisite, though that comes no surprise with her position at the gallery, always in charge of the setup of the various collections that pass through. Beyond that, though, Therese loves the simple touches – the pictures of Carol and Rindy that sit on the end table in tiny frames, or the bright pink and purple coasters clearly made by a sweet five-year-old during arts and crafts.

Would she ever be part of someone's bedside picture frame? A family photo over the mantle? Therese shivers, drowning her woes in the scorching dark roast between her palms.

**-X-X-X-X-**

She'd never expected to hate a piece of artwork as much as the unfinished one sitting in front of her. It's not exactly the piece itself; truth be told, she finds it rather stunning. Rather, it's the way it taunts her, incomplete, beckoning her to work on it while her brain, her soul, her muse fight her every step of the way. Closing her eyes does little to change her inspiration. The painting had come from a particular state of being, one that simply isn't _her_ anymore. And Carol...

Oh god, Carol. The thought of letting her down, of not being able to meet the deadline makes Therese sick to her stomach. Sure, she could slap something together, throw some colors and shapes on a canvas and call it a day. But Carol would know. Oh how she would know. And if her renewed sight wouldn't change the course of their lives together, that certainly would.

“Darling,” Carol greets at the doorway. “Rindy wants go outside and build a snowman. Would you like to join us?”

“Absolutely,” Therese answers, thankful for the excuse to step away.

**-X-X-X-X-**

It's almost impossible not to stare. Carol always looks stunning, but her beauty is beyond description as she stands in the snow, laughing as Rindy tosses a handful of it into the air above them. The flakes dust her hair, a shimmering angel that Therese cannot look away from. If Carol were to turn to her, it would be so _obvious_ with the way she stares like a lovesick puppy, and yet Therese hardly cares, completely enamored.

“Duck!” Carol shouts, but Therese is too distracted to move in time, the snowball hitting her square in the face. The shock of cold actually makes her gasp, but the giggling from across the way warms her.

“Rindy,” Carol scolds lightly, “that wasn't nice. You know Therese-”

“Revenge is a dish best served...” Therese leans down and picks up a large scoop of snow, shaping it between her gloved hands. “Cold!!!!!” With that, she charges, following Rindy's playful screams. Once she's close enough, she throws the snowball, which gently hits the five-year-old in the arm.

“Oh no, she got you!” Carol exclaims with a laugh.

“Don't think you're out of the woods,” Therese warns. And with that, she leans down and gathers two fistfuls of snow, not bothering to waste time forming a ball with them. Clumsily, she tosses it above Carol's head and holds her breath as she waits for it to fall, unable to bite back the grin across her face as it trickles down the back of Carol's bare neck.

Carol gasps.

Therese is certain she's going to retaliate with her own series of snowballs, and yet Carol stands there staring at her, head cocked, cheeks cold and pink. A few strands of wet hair fall into her face, but it only makes her grey-blue eyes shine brighter as they watch her, silently questioning.

It makes Therese's blood run cold. And the weather is hardly to blame for it.

She does the only thing her body lets her. Stumbling a bit in the snow, continuing to play the part, Therese moves to Carol and tangles her fingers in her damp hair, pulling her face down close to kiss her, rough but slowly, her breath and tongue particularly hot in contrast to the winter air.

She's stalling. Therese knows it. And she's certain Carol knows it too. But still she kisses her, over and over until Carol breaks away for a breath, only to be pulled back in by Therese's desperate hands, pressing their lips together once more. It's a public display that Therese would otherwise loathe, and yet there's nothing else to do in the moment, not with the snow and the glitter of Carol's hair and the perfect pink of her cheeks, the red of her lips, the white flakes across her eyelashes that make her look so young, so full of life, and even if it started as a means of a distraction, there is nothing more genuine than the way Therese kisses her.

When Carol finally steps back, there are tears at the corner of her eyes.

“I-” Therese voice cracks, airy, dry.

“I know.”

“You-”

Then it's Carol again – in her arms, pressed against her mouth, gloved thumbs stroking along her jaw and neck.

And the world melts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make the author smile and inspire more.
> 
> If you aren't already, come [follow me on Tumblr](http://awomanontheverge.tumblr.com/) and say hello. But leave a comment below first ;)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *GASP*
> 
> Is it...is it really an update? ;)

They spend almost an hour outside together, laughing and playing in the snow, a temporary reprieve from the woes of adulthood. Little Rindy is positively soaked to the bone by the fourth round of snowball fights, and despite her begging not to go inside, her bright red cheeks and chattering teeth are far too much for Carol to ignore. As a tantrum mounts, Therese slips between mother and daughter to avoid an inevitable meltdown. “Why don't we go inside and have some hot chocolate?”

Rindy's face softens, the threat of tears quickly disappearing. “With marshmallows?”

Therese looks over at Carol, realizing that she _probably_ should have checked with her to make sure they actually had some in the first place.

“Yes sweetheart, that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Carol agrees. “Let's go inside and get cleaned up, ok?” As they move toward the apartment lobby, she looks over her shoulder where Therese follows and mouths “ _thank you_ ”.

While Carol helps Rindy change from her wet snow clothes, Therese grabs a fresh pair of sweatpants and a matching sweater for herself. The snowflakes along her hair begin to melt with the warmth of the apartment, and as she begins to de-tangle the wet knots with her fingers, Carol greets her at the doorway of her bedroom.

“I'd come to offer my help, but I suppose you don't need it anymore.” Carol smiles, the moment bittersweet.

“It's not like that-” Therese insists, but Carol stops her short with a wave of her hand.

“Of course, darling. It's ok. Really it is. I suppose I'd quite liked spoiling and taking care of you, that's all.” Despite her words, the emotion is inevitably written all over Carol's face.

“It doesn't have to-”

“Moooooom!” Rindy whines from the living room. “Is the hot chocolate ready yet?”

“I should go fix us something to drink.” Carol excuses herself, disappearing down the hallway and leaving Therese alone once more.

**-X-X-X-X-**

Therese isn't exactly sure what she'd expected after the sudden reveal of her eyesight, but Carol's avoiding the conversation altogether feels worse than any reaction she'd imagined. Being jealous of a five-year-old is certainly not one of her proudest moments, but as Therese watches Carol fawn over Rindy for the rest of the day – cooking her meals, brushing her hair, playing dolls, watching the television curled up together – she can't help but feel slightly envious, still desperate for Carol's attention despite her newfound freedom.

That night, when Rindy is tucked into bed and the distractions are no longer there, Therese finds Carol on the sofa, enjoying a dark whiskey on the rocks. “Is it ok if I sit with you?” she asks timidly.

Carol smiles softly while patting the space beside her.

“Are you angry with me?” Therese asks, picking distractedly at the stitching on her sweater, anything to avoid Carol's stare.

“Why on Earth would I be upset with you?” Carol asks before sipping from her glass.

“My sight. That I didn't tell you right away?”

“Ah,” Carol responds with a click of her tongue. “That.”

Therese, growing increasingly more anxious, loops her finger around a stray piece of thread from the arm of her shirt, trying desperately to distract herself from the tightness in her throat and the nauseating dread in the pit of her stomach. Carol's short remark hardly comes across as reassuring. Expecting the worst has always been a particularly bad habit of hers, and yet, on the receiving end of Carol's terseness, she may very well crumble at her feet.

But Carol doesn't give her the chance to cry or argue or collapse into madness.

“I am not upset with you at all. Not in the slightest. Surprised? Shocked? Perhaps. But not upset.” She sighs, then reaches over to the coffee table to free her hands, which quickly meet Therese's cheek and shoulder with a soft caress. “I am thrilled for you, Therese.”

There's something else there, though. Therese can see it in the way Carol looks at her, eyes bright and glassy. “But?”

A hint of sadness washes over Carol's face, there in the darkness under her eyes and the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. “I'm an old woman, Therese. Not old, but older. What possible use could you have for me now? There is no veil anymore, no pretense I can hide myself behind. I am raw, exposed to you. You are blossoming while I...” As a stray tear or two trickles across her cheek, Carol laughs at her own foolishness.

“How could you say that?” Therese's voice shakes. “You are amazing. A mother. A boss. A friend. How could I not be in awe of you? How could I not fall in love with you?”

Carol's cheeks flush pink.

“I would never have been able to do any of this without you. I would still be sitting in my apartment, staring at the same blank canvas and unused paints and just hating my life, wishing I were anywhere but here. And in that other universe, perhaps I'd have seen you in the hallway, and I'd have been smitten from afar, but too cowardly to actually do something about it.” Therese turns to face Carol, gently threading her fingers through her hair. “I fell hopelessly in love with you from the first moment I saw you bossing the movers around, fussing over boxes.”

Carol laughs tearfully. “You were watching that day?”

Therese nods. “I couldn't even see your face but I knew. I finally felt something.”

“You barely know me.” It's not meant to hurt, yet Carol's remark still stings. “It's true I am a mother, and a boss, and a friend. But I am many other things. Not every part of me is flattering.”

“I want to know you.”

Carol moves Therese's hands from her face and clasps them to her chest, their fingers lightly tangled together. “Then _ask me_ things, Therese. I can't promise you will like the answer, or if I will be proud to share them, but ask me and I will tell you.”

Therese kisses her, hard and desperate, silencing. It's rougher and more urgent than their snowdusted kiss outside, and despite the warmth of Carol's tongue and the shiver at the back of her neck as her fingernails brush there, Therese simply cannot get enough of this woman, this masterpiece before her that seems to be crumbling beneath the marble of her foundation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An admittedly short update, but one to entice as I slowly get back into the writing world again. Yes, it's been quite awhile, and I have missed it dearly. 
> 
> Comments make the author smile and greatly inspire more. Leave a comment if you are still here after all this time ;) Much love to you all! xo


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Sliiiiiightly_ NSFW ;)

In the days leading up to the gallery deadline, both Carol and Therese find themselves exceedingly busy – Carol attempting to coordinate the event, while Therese simply tries to finish the damned thing. By the time Carol arrives home each night, eats, and helps put Rindy to bed, any time left is spent nodding off on the sofa together with awful television playing in the background. Watching Carol twitch and talk softly in her sleep quickly becomes one of Therese's favorite things; yet they are desperate for each other, and when Carol actually arrives home at a civil hour toward the end of the week, Therese seizes the opportunity to take Carol up on what she had begged her for.

“7-Up or Sprite?” Therese settles next to Carol with a newly acquired beverage – a raspberry sparkling water with plenty of ice, the soft sound of the carbonation fizzing in the silence of the room as she waits for an answer.

“Neither,” Carol shrugs. “If I'm going to drink my calories, there better be booze in it.” Smiling, she shakes her head. “Darling, when I told you to ask me things, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind.”

“Working my way there. Besides, it's the boring questions that open themselves up to the exciting ones.”

“Well then, when you put it that way...” Carol winks. “Pineapple on pizza. Your opinion. Go.” She swirls the whiskey in her glass with a gentle flick of her wrist. “No pressure. The fate of our relationship rests entirely in your hands.”

Making direct eye contact, Therese grins confidently. “Love it.”

“I can feel my heart _shattering_ in my chest.” Carol throws her head back dramatically and presses a hand over her heart. “Devastated. Simply devastated.”

“I'll go pack my things,” Therese quips, playing along with the dramatics. There are so many questions she wants to ask, yet she finds herself nervous and distracted, an effect Carol seems to effortlessly have on her. The sleeves to her lilac blouse are rolled up to her elbow, and as Carol extends an arm to place her drink on the coffee table, Therese watches her with rapt attention – the subtle flex of strong muscles at her forearm, the dark blue where her veins spider at her wrist and the soft jingle of the gold chain bracelet that is fastened there. “Where did you get that?” Therese asks, taking the opportunity to run her finger along the top of Carol's hand before tapping her wrist.

“This?” Carol looks down. “It was gifted to me the day Rindy was born. It has her birthdate engraved on the other side of it.” She flips the thin gold bar in the middle of the chain. “See?”

“It's beautiful. Who gave it to you?”

At that, Carol tenses; Therese feels it in the way Carol's hand stiffens beneath her touch. “Rindy's father. I only wear it because it reminds me of such a special day, not because of who it's from,” she explains rather quickly, as if she has to defend herself from Therese's judgement.

Therese sinks into the back of the sofa, blinking – quiet, contemplative, embarrassed by her willful ignorance around the subject of Rindy's father. Her own selfishness surrounding her injury had kept her blissfully unaware, but Carol's purposeful tiptoeing around the subject seems so obvious now. She debates whether to apologize or simply shift the conversation, but – always sharp and perceptive – Carol beats her to it.

“How is the painting coming along?”

It's a safe question coming from a clearly guarded woman. Of course, Carol could simply be protecting her from the embarrassment of a sore subject, but Therese can sense something more, fear subtle in Carol's features. “Getting there. I'd assumed that having my sight back was going to make the whole thing a piece of cake, but it's been surprisingly difficult.”

“Is there anything I can do?” It comes off as a mix of genuine concern and worry that the gallery she's been working so hard to put together is about to go to shit without its star piece.

Therese feels guilty even talking about her struggles with it.

“I've tried closing my eyes, but it's so much more than that. It's-”

“A state of being,” Carol finishes.

“Exactly. It's this rawness and sort of vulnerability that's just...” Therese finds it difficult to articulate. Hiding behind her drink, she finishes it in two long gulps.

There's silence between them as Carol stares and ponders, eyes slightly narrowed but bright paired with a hint of a smile. “I might have an idea to help you there,” she eventually offers.

“ _Might_ or _do_?”

A raise of Carol's eyebrow answers for her. Practically towering over her when she stands, Therese doesn't even try to hide how infatuated she is with every inch of Carol, her line of sight unashamedly at those gloriously long legs beside her. “I believe you're staring, Miss Belivet.”

“Making up for lost time.”

Carol chuckles. “Very smooth, darling.”

“Is it working?”

“Is what working?”

“My hopeless attempts at flirting with you?”

That – for once – seems to catch Carol a little off-guard, and the uncharacteristic blush that her question elicits fills Therese with a sudden burst of confidence, so different from the shyness she's been plagued with her whole life.

“Would the artist grace me with a private glimpse of her newest work?” Carol reaches out, palm up.

She no longer needs Carol's lead, yet Therese takes it with no hesitation. As they enter her bedroom, Therese turns to switch the light on, but Carol stops her with a gentle tug at her wrist. They move together in the darkness, and as they approach the easel at the corner of the room, Carol stops to steal a kiss – quick but hot, dizzying – before leading Therese to her seat.

“What are-”

“Shhh.”

“But I-”

“Shhhhhhhh.” Carol stands behind her and places her hands on Therese's shoulders, the gentle pressure keeping her grounded in her seat. “The lady doth protest too much. Do you trust me?”

Therese shivers as Carol's fingertips trace her neck. “Yes.” With Carol's instruction, she closes her eyes and enjoys the sensation as Carol's nails drag slowly, fingers carding through her hair and across her scalp but never really tangling. It's a delicious mix of sensations, the heat between her legs mixed with the calm and sleepiness that Carol's gentle movements lull her into.

When Carol finally speaks again, it's low and even and commanding, a shift that makes Therese's heart race. “I'm going to try something, and if at any point in time you want me to stop, just say the word and I will, ok?”

Therese swallows heavily. “Yes.” With her eyes kept closed, she listens to the patter of Carol's feet against the flooring as she moves across the room, then returns a moment later to her place on the other side of the easel chair. There's a featherlight tickle across her face as Carol places some sort of cloth – smooth, like silk – over her eyes before tying it securely with a knot at the back of her head. Despite having spent the last few weeks trying to escape it, the darkness makes her feel oddly invigorated.

“Red or blue?”

Carol's plan grows more and more hazy, but still Therese plays along; just the thought of questioning her seems positively laughable. “Red.”

There's a twist – the swishing sound of plastic on plastic – then the heaviness of something in her hands. Once more, she relies on her sense of touch to clue her in, and when she dips into a thick cold substance that isn't quite liquid but is still easily manipulated, she begins to understand Carol's intent. With Carol's hand over hers, she reaches forward and drags along the length of the canvas, finding the shape and the context of the painting once more while searching for the empty spaces she's yet to finish.

As she contemplates the next stroke with her lower lip tucked between her teeth, Carol begins to press slow, open-mouthed kisses down the side of her neck; her tongue circles in a teasing, suggestive way that has Therese practically writhing in her seat. Carol caresses her throat and tucks her mouth close to the shell of her ear. “Feeling vulnerable yet, darling?”

“Getting there,” Therese breathes, shocked that her voice doesn't come out as a high-pitched squeak.

“Arms up.”

Therese's dark purple sweater quickly falls to the floor beside them.

“How about now?”

It's an encouragement and a power play all-in-one. Carol's need to nurture and control is evident with every move she makes, and Therese is more than happy to be on the receiving end of it. Her hand moves unsteadily across the canvas as she smears swirls of red across it, gathering several layers of paint on one side to play with texture. And it's Carol who plays in turn – one thumb brushing back and forth, taunting, barely making contact with one nipple while the other traces along her pulse, her hand still firm at the base of Therese's neck. The borrowed sweatpants at her waist are loose, easy for Carol's fingers to slip past the band to tease in an entirely different way.

If Carol's intent is to make her feel raw, then she far exceeds expectations. The blood rises in Therese's face and cheeks, and her skin is hot to the touch as Carol worships it in every sense of the word. And still – somehow – she paints, making more progress in the short time Carol teases her than she's made in days. She's never mixed work with pleasure before, but as Carol encourages with hushed (and delicious) obscenities in her ear, she wonders whether she could ever go back to the way it was before.

“Are you close?”

Therese clutches Carol's hand where it rests at her clavicle.

“The painting,” Carol clarifies devilishly. “You've made so much progress already. It looks close to complete.”

“Very close,” Therese chokes. Then suddenly, Carol's hands are gone and the makeshift blindfold at her eyes falls loosely into her lap. She blinks, trying to orient her eyesight to the darkness. At first, she can only make out the easel, lit by a sliver of artificial light from the lamppost outside the window, then Carol is there, half of her face hidden in the shadows.

Stepping forward, Carol gently smooths the hair framing Therese's face, looking positively angelic as the light catches her hair and the gold band at her wrist. Everything about her is so purposeful and pristine - the always cool facade of Carol Aird. After moving the jar of paint to the floor, she settles into Therese's lap and and traces her thumb along the outline of her kiss-swollen mouth. Her lips part and take Carol's thumb between her teeth daringly, promising that two can tease.

Like a canvas, Therese makes Carol's skin her own, the trace of paint still on her fingers leaving a messy, uneven trail of red along her neck and jawline. There's an expectation of shock on Carol's part, yet she offers herself wordlessly, rolling her head back to expose the full length of her neck. Therese kisses one side and marks the other, and Carol – already a work of art – quickly becomes another kind entirely at the mercy of Therese's hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments make the author smile and inspire more. We are finally approaching the big gallery! What do you think will happen next??


End file.
